The Malfoy Secret
by Aya Diefair
Summary: When a family starts to crumble, secrets are created. When secrets are created, some cause severe emotional harm to others. All elitist pure-blood families have their share of skeletons in the closet; question is, can they learn from them? Post-Hogwarts. Rated T: Violence, Language, & Suggestive Scenes.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Hello fellow readers and fans of Harry Potter. This story starts three weeks after The Battle of Hogwarts (excluding the prologue), is epilogue compliant, and is 98% based solely on the Malfoy family. The rating for this story MAY go from T to M later as there will be some violent and suggestive scenes in the future. There will also be some strong language, but I am not much of the swearing type in general, so it won't be flying off the walls unless I find the situation appropriate. I will warn you when things get violent, have excessive swearing/vulgarity, and when there are suggestive scenes beforehand. I hope you enjoy.

For more information regarding _The Malfoy Secret,_ please refer to my bio page for exclusive character descriptions.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the World of Harry Potter. I thank JK Rowling for creating the Wizarding World that allows us to write fanfiction in turn.

**Special Thanks: **I'd like to thank StoryWriter831 and MirandNack for being my beta/advice provider. Without their advice, support, and assistance, I wouldn't be sharing this story today. Also, a special shout out to Expedite and my Mom, who have also helped me out in the beginning stages of writing this fic with their support and suggestions.-

**8/17/13:** This chapter has been revised. Minor spelling errors corrected.

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**Summary: **When a family starts to crumble, secrets are created. When secrets are created, some cause severe emotional harm to others. All elitist pure-blooded families have their share of skeletons in the closet; question is, can they learn from them? How do they cope with these secrets while they recover from a War in a world where everyone now despises them? Will they change their ways and views, or remain the closed minded cold-hearted pure bloods forever?

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**Prologue**

_Evening of February 18th, 1987_

Malfoy Manor was shroud in the cold winter shadows of nightfall. The only light that flickered within the manors walls were dying flames that faintly licked at charred and crumbling wood in the fireplace of the drawing room. Narcissa Malfoy was curled up under a cashmere afghan on a cream colored overstuffed sofa, a book lazily grasped in one hand. Her head rested on a large caramel throw pillow propped against the sofas arm with closed eyes, feet tucked under her to keep them warm. The quiet evening was a rare gift in the manor the last couple months, but all too soon a faint cry could be heard from afar, echoing within the corridors.

Narcissa's motherly ears were attuned to the soft cries, even while slumbering. She jerked awake immediately, dropping the forgotten book. She listened to the silence for a moment, knowing that she indeed heard crying, but when nothing came she began to wonder if it was all in her head. Several quiet minutes went by, the fire beside her were now red embers. She heard the faint cries once more, prompting her to abandon the room; she found herself just outside of Lucius' study moments later. Instead of knocking as she knew she was expected to do, she let herself in with no warning; leaving the door ajar, which had never happened before that night.

Lucius Malfoy was sitting by a much livelier fire than the one she left behind, reading his own book while sipping a small glass of red wine. He lowered his reading material to look to his wife as she approached. Observing her body language, he knew what she was going to inquire long before she spoke, yet he kept his impassive mask on. He stole a sip of his wine before placing it on the side table along with his book. He did all this in silence, looking away from Narcissa only briefly to complete the task; waiting for what he knew was coming.

"I... I can hear him crying again," she half whispered, scared that if she dared speak any louder it would come out as a sob instead. Her whole body mimicked her upset, sad-filled eyes. Lucius said nothing and quickly looked away to instead stare at the fire, knowing what was going to be asked next. Narcissa rested a hand on the arm of the chair and blinked back several forming tears.

"Please, Lucius, please do this... if not for him, than for me. It is killing me knowing he is suffering and… and I feel..."

She was not able to admit she felt helpless to her own child; the mother was supposed to protect her children from being scared and in pain, it deeply hurt she was failing at both. He closed his eyes at this, the agony-laced words that came from his wife struck a knife right through him, as it had done the last four times she had asked and was denied by him. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, trying to find lost words.

"Try a For–"

"You and I know it won't work!" she snapped at him before he could bother finishing his statement, venom filling each word. "The amount required to drink in order to help with something of this magnitude will be toxic to a boy his age, you know this! It. Won't. Work!"

He could not find the courage to look at her, he knew they'd exhausted all their other options to help their son, but he did not want to resort to this. Tears fell freely from Narcissa now; she used the wingback chair he sat in to lean on to keep her upright. The feeling of helplessness ripped through her over and over whenever she heard Draco's cries throughout the night, every night for months, knowing that her comforting coos and soothing songs no longer helped her little boy sleep, no longer helped battle his night terrors and horrible dreams. It was slowly destroying her, knowing she was failing him as a mother.

"It's been almost three months. Three months since the accident, Lucius. He's still suffering. I've tried everything..." she trailed off, not knowing what else to say to convince her husband to oblige to her pleading request.

Letting out a sigh, Lucius cautiously rose from his chair and pulled Narcissa in a tight embrace. Her tears quickly soaked his white dress shirt as she buried her face into his chest, letting out a hard sob she had contained well until now. Kissing her temple, he gently stroked her hair in silence, pondering on what he should say and do as she cried freely and quietly.

"He's just a baby... and he's hurting... suffering... my fault..." Narcissa mumbled, most of her words nearly impossible to comprehend. He strained his ears to try and hear their son's cries, yet was unable to over his wife's own quiet sobs.

"Okay..." he found himself finally saying just above a whisper in her ear.

Narcissa frame stiffened at the single word, trying to decide if she heard him right. After a moment she pulled her face away from his chest and looked up at him; her red-rimmed, blue eyes searched his molten, grey ones for reassurance. He cupped her face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe away the tears, holding her gaze as he did so.

"I'll do it..." he said again, assuring her he meant what he had said.

Fresh tears sprang from his wife's eyes but she blinked them back as he lightly kissed her forehead while slipping her hand into his. She squeezed his hand tightly while he collected his cane that rested next to his chair before leading her to their son's room with nothing more being said. The crying was barely audible in the corridor as they climbed the stairs leading to his room, but to Narcissa it was like a banshee's scream. Her baby needed her and she has left him alone too many times recently for him to just cry himself to sleep, it filled her with a heavy guilt. Releasing Lucius' hand as they entered his room, she rushed over to pull Draco into her arms. Lucius went stock still in the doorway, staring at nothing, as he wrapped his head around what he was about to do.

"_Shh_, sweetie. _Shhh_." she cooed, rocking her son gently after he climbed into her lap.

She stroked his blond hair gently and kissed the boy's forehead before muttering quiet comforts and hushing his cries until his tears started to cease and his sobs were less frequent. Lucius could faintly hear his son's whispers to his mother. They were apologies, said in various ways; with a few "It was my fault" and "I didn't mean to" sprinkled among them. He recalled the first time he and Naricssa realized the accident had affected him far worse than they anticipated; he awoke screaming a scream that could wake the dead not even two days after the incident.

He was harsh with his wife then. When she first asked him to help Draco forget, he answered with the detached, impassive Malfoy attitude; at the time he'd assumed Draco would learn to forget on his own.

His own words echoed in his thoughts. _"He will learn how to cope with it eventually, in his own way. He will get over it soon enough. You can't always take away his pain and mollycoddle him when bad things happen. He needs to learn how to handle it on his own. He will stop this nonsense when he realizes what happened was done to nobody of importance to us or him."_

Lucius also recalled the harsh slap from Narcissa that followed the last statement. She was in denial over the whole situation and still was even now, he knew; she'd just learned to hide it from everyone. She still hoped she would get the letter that would make everything okay. She'd then be able to sweep the past under the rug and never speak of it again. The Malfoys were always skilled at this sort of thing; she just needed a little more time to realize that the letter was never going to come. He, however, handled it much differently by simply pretending the accident never happened to begin with, or that it simply happened to someone he would never be caught speaking to. It wasn't far off from the truth.

Letting out a soft sigh, he forced himself to step forward, hearing Narcissa's quiet words of comfort to their son as he approached them.

"Your mother and father are going to help you, sweetie. You won't have any more bad dreams about it ever again." she whispered to Draco.

The boy turned to look at his father with a tear stained face. His stifled sob stopped Lucius dead in his tracks only feet away from them.

"You have to trust your father okay, Draco? He's going to make it all go away," Narcissa continued in a reassuring tone before looking to Lucius with pleading eyes, silently telling him to do it.

He stared back at her; his hand grasped stiffly on the top his cane where he hid his wand. His head lowered a tad, sending a look asking her if she really wanted him to do this. They both were aware of the possible risks the spell could entail, yet he knew she was desperate to help their son; she just wanted to protect him from the night terrors and pain.

She gave a light nod and he gripped his cane tighter, twisting the snake head to slide his wand out from its resting place. Lucius watched Draco's body go rigid at this and turned away, but Narcissa's whispered reassurances had him look back at his father. Although the boy attempted to show he was now calm, his eyes were etched with fear. Narcissa moved Draco to sit on the bed before moving away, only holding his hand that she squeezed to provide comfort. Raising his wand, Lucius closed his eyes to concentrate hard at what he was doing and nothing more, letting himself relax. He opened his eyes and looked down the length of his wand now pointed at his son and saying in just above a whisper,

"Obliviate..."


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note 8/17/13: **This chapter has been revised.

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**Chapter 1**

_Present Day; mid-afternoon of May 31st, 1998_

May was coming to a close. The Second Wizarding War that had erupted at the doorstep of the ancient school of Hogwarts was over. The warmth of summer that proceeded to settle over the country did not touch everyone's spirits this year. It was still a time of mourning, rebuilding, and re-stabilizing lives. Hundreds of people lost someone they loved; their children, a niece, a father, an aunt, a cousin, even friends. Others lost their very homes.

One family, however, had been lucky enough to not lose a single person they deeply cared for. The Malfoy family walked away from the war with something several had not: each other. They remained an unbroken family, whereas others only wished that was what they had left in the end. Those who had been blessed with that would never take it for granted ever again. This family, however, just may do such a thing. Of course they survived, driven by love to keep out of harm's way; even if what they did was wrong, they had looked out only for their own and prevailed.

Instead, their pride was heavily damaged, along with their dignity – and above all, respect from others. As the family walked back to the manor from where they Apparated, Draco Malfoy realized his family's home still felt like a prison. Only this time a different side enslaved them. Being escorted back, along with his parents, by three Aurors after witnessing the burial of the aunt he secretly feared wasn't how he wanted to spend his day. At least they were able to get out and stretch their legs in the fresh air. Being under house arrest was dreadful; no visitors were allowed, no wandering through the gardens without being stalked by an Auror, even sleeping was unpleasant at times.

Why his mother refused to have Bellatrix cremated with the rest of the unclaimed dead, he would never know. Surely after everything that… _thing_ did – he couldn't identify her as a human, not without losing the contents of his stomach – burning her foul remains was more than what she deserved. Burying her only tainted and cursed the earth that now lies around her.

Along with his father, Draco absentmindedly stood to the side with glazed eyes and blank, unreadable faces during the burial; numb. Deaf to Narcissa's sobs that she tried to hide and blind to the tears she rubbed away from her face, neither man comforted their broken mother, broken wife. At least she was able to find comfort in her one and only true friend that came, albeit her presence was sort of required, being an assigned Auror. Sabrina Blackthorn would have come regardless. He still wondered how the Blackthorns were assigned to his family when his mother knew them like the back of her hand. Maybe the Ministry was still that stupid, or had no other willing Aurors at their disposal that they resorted to volunteers and had not bothered to inquire if they were pre-acquainted to who they were assigned to.

Leaving the newly founded _Cemetery of the Wars Fallen Heroes_ had not gone unnoticed by other mourners that were present. Despite the name, the Minister of Magic reluctantly designated a "neutral" section of the cemetery for those who lost someone from the other side of the fight, as well as those who ended up defecting at the last minute. Of course, there was a lot of paperwork and legalities involved to even get to that point to begin with, which – in Draco's mind – was not worth it at all just to bury a horrible person that didn't belong there.

There were dozens and dozens of headstones all in neat rows with fresh mounds of dirt at their feet; there was also a lot of room left to grow. Some already had so many flowers and wreaths surrounding them that the names written in stone and the fresh piles of dirt were concealed. As they weaved their way through from the back half of the cemetery, the handful of people that were also there watched them intently from a distance. They did not hesitate sending some nasty looks or even try to hide their blatant staring when eyes accidentally met. This made Draco seethe in discomfort. These people no longer had fear-stricken hearts and they were making it clear now.

He tried to keep from reading the stones, but his curious eyes betrayed him, and the first name he skimmed was Violet Rickman. _'She was in my year and house.' _ That name was well known; reckless family, sketchy history too. Reckless, though not stupid. He knew they would've turned tail once the battle resumed when Potter wasn't dead; he wondered if she got caught in the crossfire while attempting to flee with that younger brother of hers.

The name following Violet's made him feel ill; Vincent Crabbe. The mound of dirt was not there, though. All he could dwell on at that point was feeling responsible for that grave being there in the first place – with a body or not. Crabbe's grandmother must have requested the headstone since his father was in Azkaban and his mother had been dead for some time now. She was clearly granted one for her grandson. After all, she did no harm in either war. Or at least, was never caught in the act.

As they transitioned into the "light side" area of the cemetery, the nasty comments started along with the dirty looks. The handful of eyes on Draco and his family felt like it tripled, and the threat of bile started stinging his throat. The bystanders wanted the Malfoys to feel ashamed for being there; the level of humiliation he felt was beyond the incident with Moody during his fourth year. And that was saying something. Keeping his eyes trained on the earth below, it helped him ignore the stares. He wasn't bothering with how he held himself anymore in public, and he didn't care what anyone thought of it. His father only seemed to manage the proper posture, but only out of habit. As for his mother, he couldn't bear to look her way to know after his lack of affection and comfort minutes earlier.

He continued to skim more headstones as he passed; so far none of them rang any bells, except one. He felt his legs lock up and go numb, his feet suddenly leaden: Severus Snape.

He had to use every fiber in his being to not collapse, or release the sob that burned in his throat. The only professor he actually liked, admired, and respected was gone. _'How? Why? He earned the place of Vold–his right-hand man, surely that entitled some sort of invincibility. And why was he laid to rest with the other heroes and Aurors?'_ Unfortunately Draco concluded he would never know the answers to any of these questions, and this troubled him deeply. The only ones who would have satisfying answers would be the idolized and worshiped trio, and he would certainly never be caught dead on their doorsteps knocking and expecting tea.

Setting foot in the manor was not as comforting as Draco wanted it to be, not after enduring today. He barely noticed that the ginger-haired Auror – who he found out, astonishingly enough, was NOT remotely related to a Weasley – remained behind at the gate, but the other two Aurors followed the family inside the manor. What was the ginger's name again anyway? Steele? Stealer? Star? Whatever it was, she always had a nasty look on her face. If she stopped wearing it all the time, wasn't a Mudblood, and the color of her hair didn't repulse him, Draco may have found her somewhat pretty.

He'd quickly learned her hexes were pretty nasty when they first met behind the manor's walls. He remembered the encounter pretty well. In fact, a small sting on his right shoulder decided to prickle as a reminder, and he was surprised he'd regained feeling in that arm some three weeks later. Recalling he wasn't in the best of moods that day, and that it so happened he crossed paths with her when she was alone in his house, had made him decide to challenge her lenience. The color of her hair had him itching to ask if she was a long lost Weaslette, and he actually said those exact words. She'd ignored him but he'd kept going on about her hair and her overall appearance. Even though he really didn't find her visually unappealing, it didn't stop him from commenting on it.

When Draco made a remark about her Muggle surname he couldn't remember the hexes started flying, and she did not back down, even after he was tripped up with her Leg-Locker Curse. He ended up having a stinging and numbing hex hit his right shoulder back-to-back, causing a heavy burning numbness throughout his whole arm. She managed one last stinging hex at one of his legs before she released the Leg-Locking Curse just before Ian Blackthorn found them. He prayed he never met her in a dark alley – ever.

It didn't score the Malfoys any special treatment by any means after the incident. Ian had taken his ally's lying word over his after the situation was explained. Her playing the victim irked Draco enough to mention it to his mother, but nothing came from telling on them, unfortunately. Not even an apology. The Blackthorns acted as though they'd never seen the family before when they were around fellow allies or in public since they became volunteers. He didn't know why, not really caring; he never really liked them to begin with.

Draco quickly made his way to the only place where it didn't feel like he was in prison, or where the walls wouldn't randomly decide to close in and suffocate him; his room. The tightness in his chest eased once he sought the safety behind the room's walls. He never questioned why the room he'd had since before he could remember gave him some peace of mind and comfort. A form of twisted security among the bleak, war shredded world. The only thing it didn't provide him was a dreamless, pleasant night's sleep.

He found himself at his writing desk with a quill in hand and a book with blank pages opened before him. Never in his short life would he have envisioned himself keeping a journal, but when you had no friends to turn to, when it seemed the world hated you, and you were locked in your own house – again. One had little choice, and very few options left, before everything in their head burst and made them go mad. Even his own parents were off the table; he wasn't even sure they were an option to begin with.

.oOo.

_May 31th, 1998_

_Well, the worst is over… for today anyway. The trials start tomorrow and yet I find facing them will be nothing after what I endured today; The Walk of Shame. At least everything is starting to come to a close, finally. I am in need of a blank slate._


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note** **8****/17/13:** This chapter has been revised.

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**Chapter 2**

"Narcissa?"

The tone that laced Narcissa's name was what pulled her back into the present rather than her actual name. Her dulled blue eyes barely sparked with life as they brought the old witch that sat across from her into focus.

"I'm sorry?"

"The tea, it is getting cold."

"Oh yes, of course."

The troubled witch really did not feel like having tea at that moment, but she decided to humor her friend and started preparing her cup. She did not register the extra scoop of sugar that she started to stir in. Sabrina watched keenly as Narcissa messed up her tea; knowing there was more going on than meets the eye as she observed the small mistake.

"Please, Narcissa, I am here to listen if you need to talk. My son will surely take his time doing the rounds of looking in every corner of your house for illegal things that aren't there, just like the last three raids. No need to play the charade for now."

Narcissa gave a nod in response, noting her friends attempt to lighten the mood, yet was unable to form anything close to a smile. Instead, she let out a small sigh and took a sip of her tea, contemplating what she wanted to focus on as a topic to discuss. The too sweet tea caused the witch to make a sour face in response to the sip she took; setting the cup and saucer back on the tray where it remained.

"Well… how has everything been for Ian and your niece, as well as yourself, Sabrina?"

She knew the older witch would deflect the question. Sabrina didn't want to talk about herself, but instead have Narcissa talk to her as a close friend should. The problem was she had no idea where to start.

Sabrina couldn't help but let the quiet growl escape her lips as she let out a forced breath. Her dark eyes unknowingly flashed a glare her friends' way. She had far less troubles than Narcissa at the moment, yet her short temper, which she inherited from her father, gradually started snapping at her nerves. She was not blessed with any shred of patience, either. This made small talk one of her most hated pet peeves to deal with.

"Ian has been well. Hasn't lost any limbs or anything with his exotic hobby yet; hasn't been killed, either. Clearly." She noticed Narcissa's nostrils gently flare; a sign the sarcasm bothered her. "He still sits down and experiments with making wands and such. My niece… she's fine. Loves art. Surely you do not want to hear about my boring life. Really, Narcissa, what do you have on your mind?"

Sabrina decided to humor her friend, but only answered half her question. She did not feel like speaking of her own personal matters. The blonde across from her took a moment to gather her thoughts while taking in her friends' appearance. Sabrina had a good five years on her and it showed on her face. Lines gathered on the corners of her cold, hard sapphire blue eyes. Her lips were always slightly pursed or in a firm tight-lipped frown, both showed the fine wrinkles surrounding them. She always looked like she was judging or scrutinizing whatever she looked at. Narcissa always did like her natural sun-kissed skin she obtained from living on Italian beaches as a child. Shocks of silver-grey littered throughout her jet black hair, which was always in a tight bun. A few tendrils hung around her face. She wore her mourning cloak and gown, just as Narcissa still was, but hers were a tad faded from age; looking more frayed and ashy grey than black.

The elder witch began to tap her withered fingers against her nearly empty teacup. Narcissa knew she had to say something soon, otherwise the wound up coil in Sabrina's head would snap. She would not want to be on the wrong end of that temper.

"Sabrina, I don't know what you want me to say."

Sabrina shrugged, maybe a bit too dramatically. "Whatever you want or need to say is fine."

Silence. This was not what Sabrina wanted as a conversation. Clearly she needed to stop skirting over the topic and be blunter, give her friend a little nudge onto the desired subject a little.

"I'm once again so sorry for the loss of your sister, Cissy. I wish I had the opportunity to know her as well as I know you."

That did the trick; using her nickname was a nice touch. She had to force to keep a concerned look on her face when she heard Narcissa's breath hitch at the mention of her late sister. Their blue eyes met and Narcissa smoothed out her gown before clasping her hands in her lap.

"Don't be silly, Rina. You weren't much older than her, I'm sure you got to know the real her well enough."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Narcissa's thoughts faltered for a moment, distantly wondering what the other two members of her family were up too.

"I mean Bella was a lot more herself… more normal in her school days. The Bella I once knew as a child was taken away from me when her obsessed loyalty took over and valued, yet she was still bearable then. It was Azkaban that took away whatever was left of her humanity. I am glad you never did know _that_ Bella."

"Then why so much sorrow at her grave if you felt you already lost her?"

Narcissa could not believe what she had just heard. Did she really ask such a ridiculous question! She narrowed her eyes at Sabrina, feeling her nails dig into the skin of her thighs beneath the fabric of the gown. The glazed, dull look on her face was replaced with a sharp-edged anger. Her posture even improved. It took all her control to not get to her feet and shriek at the old foolish witch.

"That's an absurd and insulting thing to ask, Sabrina! She was still my sister! A member of the Black family, and now we are finished! Over! I'm the only one left to carry on the Blacks memory, their legacy. The once proud and prominent House of Black will soon be gone from all memory, erased forever!"

She paused to take a breath that eased the burn in her exhausted lungs; the last couple sentences hurt to put into words and her faltering tone showed it. She didn't allow Sabrina to cut in, however.

"I apol–"

"I am not going to be a bitter old hoot that resents anyone that crosses me or eventually drive my family out of the country just to get away from me, either; unlike you."

Narcissa struck a nerve. She had to remember, despite their friendship; she had to know the limits one could push a friend before they were cornered and needed to show their own claws to escape.

Sabrina's face hardened, so she was going to fight dirty. She honestly meant no harm in her question; perhaps it could've been worded little better. Regardless, the blonde stepped a tad too far over the line, farther than she unintentionally did. Sitting up straighter, she flexed her fingers and set her jaw, her retaliation already hot on her tongue.

"You're not the only–"

But the older witch was interrupted by the ginger-haired Auror Cindy Skyler, who was scowling as usual. She had two thick envelopes in her hands, both with the deep purple Ministry seal on them. Ian, Sabrina's son, was right behind her. The two women rose from their seats and faced the Aurors, Sabrina quietly slipped past Narcissa to stand closer to her allies. The ginger dropped the two envelops with an audible _thunk_ on a nearby end table and swiftly moved to stand behind Ian. She did not like being a part of the Auror team assigned to the Malfoys, making it clear with her persistent rude behavior.

The young man cleared his throat before he withdrew his own envelopes from his robe pocket, the seals already broken. Pulling out the contents, he took a couple steps toward Narcissa in the meantime.

"Ma'am, these are just contracts that need your signature. One confirms that there are no illegal artifacts, cursed items, or other substances' being concealed on your property and that consent was given to search the manor. The second one is the contract to bind your word to be present in the Wizengamot Court for all trials until they end. If summoned to the stand for questioning, you accept the responsibility to answer truthfully and willingly. The consequences to fail in attending any trial will be used against you in your own hearing, and if you cannot attend to any during the duration of the trial periods a valid reason is required to be submitted to one of your assigned Aurors, preferably with a twenty-four hour notice."

He produced a quill for her as well as the contracts; Narcissa felt a little hurt at being called "ma'am", she would've preferred her first name over it – ma'am just sounded to second class for her taste. She knew the boy when he was in diapers for Merlin's sake, to hell with formality and the roles of duty rubbish. Signing both documents after skimming them over, she noticed her husband and son had already signed. How much time had passed since they returned from the cemetery that he was able to search the whole manor and get both signatures already?

Handing back the documents and quill she let out a heavy sigh, suddenly feeling very tired. Sabrina gave a quick departing nod before fleeing the manor; the ginger had already vanished. At least Ian was pretending to be civil at that point, but she knew he had no bad bone in his body to pretend with anyway. He had placed a light hand on her shoulder then.

"Get some rest, Narcissa. The weeks ahead are going to be a nasty storm. I'll see you in the morning. Cindy will be on watch tonight until 2am, and then I'll be taking over. The wards will be up as soon as I leave so… well I'm sure you know by now what they all do."

Narcissa gave the young man a small smile and couldn't help herself pulling him into a gentle hug. "Thank you for everything, Ian."

He pulled away after a moment and scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. He looked nothing like his mother except his jet black hair. His hazel eyes always shined with his permanent smile; his facial features were much softer and kinder than Sabrina's as well. The only other thing he had of his mother was his narrow nose but it did not take away from his handsome features. It was a relief he didn't inherit any of his parents' personalities, either. He was also a tad too skinny for Narcissa's liking but she figured that was her motherly instinct kicking in. It was a pity he never knew his father, but then again, it may be all for the better. He would've been shaped into another pureblood elitist if his father had a say in his upbringing. He was another nasty, cruel, pureblood narcissist.

Narcissa's eyes wandered over to the forgotten envelopes left behind by – Cindy was it? – nodding her head in their direction. "What are those?"

He turned to follow her line of sight before looking back at her with an unsure smile, ruffling his already short messy hair to support this current feeling of nervous emotion.

"Erm, well those are just more legal rubbish. They go over what to expect during the trials, punishments, and so on. Cindy was supposed to give them to you weeks ago but apparently the gesture slipped her mind until the last minute. I do not know what is up with that girl; she's normally such a sweetheart. I wouldn't be too concerned about them though, they are a bit outdated."

Trying not to be rude, Narcissa kept her mouth shut. She, like her son, did not enjoy her company; especially after she attacked Draco for no apparent reason. The silence stretched and Ian started to show he was feeling out of place, shifting his weight around on his legs. She lightly cleared her throat, looking up at him.

"Well, it is getting late. I should turn in. Goodnight, Ian." Ian stepped aside and gave her a parting nod as Narcissa walked past before he saw his own way out. She grabbed the heavy envelopes before she proceeded to her bedroom.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note 8/17/13:** This chapter has been revised.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Lucius glared at the door to his study for a good five minutes after the Blackthorn boy rudely barged his way in to have him sign some silly documents. He barely even knocked before parading in like he owned the place. He really had no idea how his wife even tolerated the obscure family. His hand wandered sightless over to the side of his desk in search of his Ogdens Old Firewhisky, knowing it was over there somewhere. Finally finding it, he poured a glass, emptying what was left of the bottle. Odd, he swore it was completely full a minute ago.

Swirling the glass' contents, he decided to re-skim the_ Daily Prophet_ that lay in front of him, not finding much interesting news lately among its pages. They have been the same, well, very similar headlines for the past couple weeks. Was there really nothing else to report besides the post-war propaganda?

.oOo.

**Daily Prophet**

**May 31th, 1998 **_Bringing You Wizardly News Since 1883_ **5 Knuts**

**Page 1**

**DEATH TOLL ON SECOND WIZARDING WAR CONTINUES TO CLIMB**

**Written By: Patrick Stickins of the_ Daily Prophet_**

_More bodies have been recovered from the ruins of Hogwarts and the total count is at 110 from that battlefield alone; the overall death count is uncertain yet many resources say it is in the hundreds. Records show the casualties are slowly starting to climb and rival the final count of the First Wizarding War. Volunteers as well as Aurors are still combing the Hogwarts grounds, as well as the castle, to assure all dead have been recovered and accounted for. They do not anticipate the search will continue much longer as, according to the Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, there are only roughly 32 persons that have yet to be found or identified, whether they are on the grounds of Hogwarts has yet to be known._

_Sources say that at least 30 of the 110 bodies recovered so far are of He Who Must Not Be Named followers, supporters, and Death Eaters. This count does not include: the giants, centaurs, elves, arachnids, Thestrals, and Hippogriffs that were also scattered about the battlefield. These creatures have been handled appropriately and fairly, in accordance with the _Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans, The Mythical Beasts Protection Act, _as well as taking proper measures in the handling of the Hogwarts elves under the orders of the new Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_.

_Several injured from the war have been released from St. Mungo's today fully recovered. Although there are handfuls that had suffered critical injuries and are still under the care of the hospital; we have yet to get an update from St. Mungo's of their condition and recovery reports. However, sources were able to discover at least 2 of the children admitted have developed Lycanthropy. Their families are currently being educated on how to brew the crucial Wolfsbane Potion, and also how to handle their child during the monthly lunar transformation cycle that they are now cursed to endure._

_To continue reading about the overall death toll, a list of casualties, information on the newly formed _Cemetery of the Wars Fallen Heroes_,_ _or information on _Operation: Rebuild Hogwarts_, please turn to page 5._

**CHIEF AUROR STILL SEARCHING FOR YOU KNOW WHO'S SUPPORTERS & FOLLOWERS**

**Written by: Anna Steller of the _Daily Prophet _& _Quiddich Today_**

_Several of You Know Who's follows and supporters have already been rounded up, but the Chief Auror is putting in extra effort to finish tying up the loose ends and put a permanent stop on the…_

.oOo.

"Such rubbish." Lucius muttered to himself as he folded the paper up and laid it to the side on his large L-shaped desk, taking a large drink to finish off his glass. That Chief Auror was an idiot thinking that the low life thugs and thieves that supported the Dark Lord were such a threat; they already caught the most dangerous ones and the ones that weren't caught were already killed. Had it really only been three weeks since the war erupted at its worst?

A shudder shot down his spine just at the thought of his presence amongst that chaos; clambering blindly over rubble, bodies, and past duels with tunnel vision searching for his only son and heir. The three words that Narcissa uttered to him after checking the body of Potter rang loudly in his ears: "_He is alive."_

He had never acted in such a reckless manner in his entire life until that day. Wandless and defenseless, he and his wife swept past the duels, hand in hand, as if they were taking a stroll through a park or garden. Everything he was doing went entirely against his own nature to just flee the scene and not look back. But he couldn't leave, wouldn't run away. Not until he found Draco, not until he was able to reunite his small family.

He has no way to explain how any curses were aimed at either of them or how they were not hit with any rogue spells. He did end up getting a nasty hit though, by a large chunk of crumbling wall that decided to collapse as they moved past. It had struck him hard on his left knee; he found out later it completely shattered the kneecap. He didn't feel the searing pain at the time; the adrenaline was already doing its job in numbing his jittery nerves. The memory had him absentmindedly rubbing the once-injured knee.

The two had finally found Draco after what felt like hours on the second floor, huddled in the entrance of what was a bathroom. He thought he saw a ghost hovering around nearby but wasn't sure – nor did he care. Narcissa ran ahead and collected Draco in her arms. He had stood a couple feet away in a dazed relief. The pain in his leg gradually increased as his nerves calmed and adrenaline ran dry. His hands were cut up and stiff, his face received a couple cuts from shielding his wife from the rubble that sprayed them whenever a rogue spell or large creature had destroyed nearby walls. At least she had suffered only a small scratch or two in the end.

He looked over his son when Narcissa finally got him up off the floor. He was a lot worse for wear than both of them: robes singed and frayed, his face covered in black soot and a nasty gash grazed over his forehead and hairline. The deep color of blood that trailed from it contrasting with Draco's skin tone jumped out at Lucius, causing him to flinch at the sight. As the two slowly moved their way back toward him, he gently embraced his trembling son with one arm before he moved to his wife's side and entwined his hand with her free one. By the time they returned to the ground floor of the castle everyone was in a giddy uproar. He figured by the sounds of the deafening cheers that Potter had won.

Lucius was torn from his thoughts when he heard the creek of the door opening, jerking upward in a jumbled mess. He didn't bother to look at the arrival in time to dilute his menacing tone sooner as he moved toward them.

"Damnit, Blackthorn, what part of get the hell out do you not–" his eyes settled on Narcissa, who stood just inside the door looking surprised at his outburst. "Cissa…" He cleared his throat before swallowing, feeling guilty for yelling at her.

Stopping just in front of her, he cautiously cupped the side of her face, their eyes locking.

"I thought you were Blackthorn…"

Narcissa placed a light finger over his lips to hush him; she didn't show any signs of being offended by his mistake. Instead she held a faint smile on her lips, but it didn't touch the hint of sadness in her eyes. After the silent exchange, she leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before grabbing his hand to lead him out of his study, yet they didn't move.

"Ian and Sabrina left for tonight," she stated, adjusting her gaze to look behind her beloved and her eyes immediately landed on the empty bottle of Firewhisky. The small smile vanished as she looked back at him. "Have you been drinking?"

It was an innocent question she asked, yet he felt the wave of guilt rush through him as he responded with a poor lie. "Just enough to take the edge off, as always my love." In reality he really drowned "the edge" away, but if he could keep the uncontrollable habit concealed from them then maybe the numbness it graced him with would help keep himself together for his small family; it has worked so far. She seemed to be satisfied with his answer, when in truth she could smell the hard liquor with every breath he released but was too tired to argue about it tonight. It was not the time.

They both left the study in silence and made their way to their room before Narcissa stopped suddenly, taking Lucius by surprise. He looked her way in quiet confusion as he took in her calculating expression. "Dinner…I forgot about it," she looked his way then, raising her brow at him. "Are you hungry?"

Lucius let out a breath and wanted to chuckle at the random line of thought that crossed her mind. It was already pretty late, and he hadn't felt hungry for a long while now. So much had happened in a short span of time it was almost jarring, and his appetite became lost with the time. Besides, Sabrina was gone, they had no house elf or wands, how would Narcissa prepare any dinner that wasn't biscuits and tea?

He shook his head lightly, finding himself leaning against the wall a little more than he had intended. The heavy feeling that took over his limbs and body made him start to feel slightly ill, and he silently hoped that she will decide against attempting this sudden new task that arose in her mind. He watched her with half closed and hazy eyes as Narcissa lightly knocked on a door before slipping into their son's room; emerging from it seconds later.

"He's already asleep," she whispered, grabbing his hand once more to finish the journey to their room. "Let's just go to bed."


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who has followed, favorite, and reviewed thus far. Free hugs for everyone! *hugs*

**8/17/13:** This chapter has been revised.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

It was barely two weeks into the brutal string of trials being held for all the captured followers of Voldemort. Some of the trials were very brief due to the overwhelming evidence against the convicts, or they were just so insane to begin with that they didn't even try to deny anything. The new and reformed methods of prosecuting the wrongdoers were created by none other than the Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt himself; wishing to form a more equal and fair system for every party in question. He wanted to make sure no innocent suspect were wrongfully imprisoned again, even giving the guilty ones a chance to plead their case if they so desired.

How he managed to reform the Wizengamot so quickly and effectively was beyond anyone's guess, but it was never a question asked because everyone seemed to approve. If a Death Eater decided to plea their side and blame it on the use of the Imperious Curse, for example, an expert Legilimens was always waiting in the wings to confirm or disprove their case. If it was by force through blackmail or manipulation, then the trial dragged out as the information, proof and witnesses – if there were any – were presented to the court. Depending on the situation, which had to be deemed as very questionable to the minister, then a temporary use of the not so favorite Veritaserum was used.

So far both methods hadn't been needed and only a couple managed to draw out their trial in hopes of prolonging being placed back in Azkaban just a little longer. Not everyone was blessed with house arrest as an alternative after all. The minister had stated at the very start to all suspects that no sentence would be announced until all cases were covered, which could take weeks; and so far that was the case. The Malfoy family, Rickman family, and a couple stragglers were required to attend them all as part of their agreement to the Minister of Magic to possibly be granted amnesty and not be thrown in jail to rot since they defected.

Draco had developed a few nervous habits once the trials started, Lucius had as well. Narcissa always sat between the two men to try and control them and stop their subtle methods used to bring them some comfort. She wondered how she hadn't pulled out all of her hair in frustration in the process, as neither of them had been acting appropriate for the public's prying eyes. At least Lucius was refraining more often as the days dragged on; he frequently would tap his foot against his cane. The sound was barely audible, but Narcissa found the physical motion of it more annoying than the sound itself. If he didn't do that, he would place both hands on top of the cane to try and, discretely as he could, rest his chin on top of them. He always ended up with a sharp jab to the ribs with a boney elbow while doing either or.

Draco's ticks were much worse. He developed a nasty habit of picking at his cuticles on his right hand and drumming his fingers against his knee with his other. His other, less frequent one was nibbling on his lip. Narcissa paled every time she caught her son doing these self-damaging and disgusting things. She would snatch his hand in hers and give him a death grip to the point where both their knuckles turned white and lost feeling. His finger drumming got a jab in the ribs as well as his lip chewing. One day, he decided he did not particularly like having a bruised side at the end of the day and ceased the habits that caused it. Instead, he found a loose thread on his robes' sleeve and decided to pick at that. When there were no loose threads, he just started picking his cuticles on his left hand.

"Will you stop that, Draco. It's a disgusting habit." Narcissa hissed his way under her breath and he turned his head a tad to look her way, only to lock eyes with a pair of angry grey ones instead. He jerked his head forward and ceased picking at his now raw fingernail beds. At least on the hand the two were able to see anyway. His mother wasn't fooled and still snatched the hand closest to her and gave him the grip from hell. He was sure he lost all feeling in it by now, or built up a good pain tolerance to the tingling numbness it now provided. He tossed the question around briefly on how his mother was able to have such a bone crushing grip with her petite body frame but it didn't hold his interest for long.

"If you do not stop…" She let out an exasperated breath, not knowing exactly what to threaten him with in a room full of accusing eyes and ears that would use anything against them. Much to Draco's lack of better judgment, he ignored the empty threat and kept on with his nervous tick.

"Please stop. You're damaging your own hands." Narcissa whispered after a while. Draco complied and decided to keep his hands in fists the rest of the day. She was right, after all. Narcissa's only nervous habit he noticed was her constant shifting in her seat, once she became comfortable she would smooth the wrinkles from her gown each time.

The current trial was the longest so far. The convict was none other than Rabastan Lestrange, Narcissa's brother-in-law. He decided he wanted to make his own case by claiming his actions were driven by force, manipulation, and blackmail. Everyone present seemed very surprised at the plea and seemed to remain that way throughout the rest of the duration. It was also the first time Lucius was summoned to the stand where he was relentlessly questioned and ridiculous theories were brewed up by the prosecutors. In the end, Lestrange had made a pretty convincing case that had put everyone's mind into overdrive trying to make something of it.

.oOo.

That evening, Ian decided to dine with the small family for dinner, Draco and Lucius shared a silent disapproval with brief eye contact. Ian was not much of a talker, he never had been as far as Draco could recall. In fact, he was just awkward in general. His mother, on the other hand, was a complete loony. Her choice of topics were almost always over the top and bizarre, and Narcissa was the only one of the three that looked past her craziness. He envied that; but he had discovered the gift of tuning them out and ignoring them entirely, this sufficed just as well.

What was more degrading was that Sabrina took the task in preparing their dinners whenever she was there in the evening, which was all the damn time. To be assigned to keep an eye on them for the Ministry was one thing, but constantly invading their privacy every opportune moment drove Lucius and Draco up the walls. Her meals were also so simple and sometimes so bland it became inedible. The Ministry forced them to dismiss their only other house elf, leaving them completely servant-less; at least the elf's cooking was passable to the high-class family. Sabrina hadn't dined with the family since the trials had started; but her subpar meals were, almost eerily, always prepared and waiting each night when they arrived home. Ian mentioned to Draco how he walked in on Narcissa and her having an unpleasant discussion the night before the trials started, and that Sabrina became very offended from some choice use of words Narcissa had used.

Why they had to dismiss their house elf – Figgy – was never fully explained to them, which clicked a nasty nerve in Lucius' mind. He still muttered under his breath about it when the meals were at their worst. Draco concluded that the Ministry didn't want the elf to discretely poison their Aurors or be able to get out of the manor on the masters orders to attend any "suspicious activity". Even if they did use their elf in such ways, nothing undesirable would've got past the detection spells that were constantly cast around the manor. They are worse off now as prisoners than they were under the Death Eaters watch.

"Hey, Draco?"

He jerked in surprise at the sound of his name, looking up from his plate to meet the hazel eyes looking back with a hint of annoyance in them. He raised a blond eyebrow to the young Blackthorn in mock annoyance.

"What?"

"I said I just got a letter from the Ministry; your hearing is tomorrow at 7am. I advise you to arrive at 6:30am though; they like to take their time with paperwork."

Draco wished the calm and gentle tone that was used brought comfort to him, but he only felt himself go stock still in blank horror. He stared at Ian in disbelief, ignoring Ian's discomfort while he rubbed the back of his neck. Mindlessly scrapping a nail against the sides of another nail bed under the table, he felt two other pairs of eyes on him. Was he starting to lose it or did he just say he was up next on the stand?

His hearing muffled out the words of comfort from his family as he attempted to process what was just thrown at him; surely they were mistaken, weren't they? He mentally screamed at himself for not taking notice that the cases were being handled in alphabetical order by last and first name. He was the first to be put on the chopping block for his family; wonderful. He quickly found his mind racing over the various ways to go and off himself right after he was dismissed from the table.

The rest of the night was horrible, he managed to escape the suffocating dining room as soon as the information completely settled heavy onto his conscience. He couldn't escape the sensation that the rest of the evening hours raced right on by just to tease him as he paced his dark room.

'_You're totally screwed,_' his conscience accused, flinching at the complete truth that laid on every word. '_You did everything written in the Death's Eaters "How To" manual, albeit half-arsed, except kill someone and you couldn't even do that right.'_ Oh for Merlin's sake, he couldn't even trust his own thoughts anymore. Before he knew it his fist made contact with the side of a dresser and he seethed at the instant rush of burning pain that snaked through his hand.

Lucius had entered the room at that moment and nearly caught his son in the act of assaulting the dresser. He witnessed the aftermath of the heavy swearing and the cradling of the hand but had said nothing about it as he moved to take a seat in a chair by the corner. Draco hadn't bothered to acknowledge him, keeping his back to his father as he contemplated just throwing himself onto his bed to sulk or going to the bathroom to baby his throbbing hand… the Muggle way.

"I want to be alone right now." He uttered under his breath to his father, attempting to carefully flex his injured hand and resulted in a jerking motion of his head in the meantime. Lucius watched his son with concern.

"Well, I was sent to make sure you didn't do anything irrational and stupid. I see you already attended to the latter." Draco shot his father a harsh glare, not finding the supervision or the accusation desirable. Lucius responded by lifting both hands in front of him. "Mother's orders."

"Why doesn't she just come up, then?"

"She's entertaining the Blackthorn offspring, and I wanted a reason to get away."

Fair enough. He let out a sigh before lowering himself onto his bed, keeping his eyes to the floor and his hands resting in his lap. His mind was reeling about everything and nothing at once, he stole a glance toward his writing desk to scope out the closed book resting there. His right hand involuntarily twitched in anticipation and he half flinched at the fresh throb of pain it released. He was suddenly aware of the presence of his father's gaze and he resumed his blank stare to the floor.

'_Remember that one key word that jumped out of the mouth of the minister? **Possibly.** Possibly granted freedom.' _He set his jaw and gritted his teeth hard as his thoughts taunted him.

"You will be alright tomorrow, Draco." His father's gentle voice seemed to boom throughout the quiet room; easier said than done. "If Lestrange can do it and make it convincing then I'm sure you can–"

"They'll find any reason to see right through it; might as well be thrown to the dogs now."

Silence took over the air between the two pale blond Malfoy men. Draco couldn't help but listen to the whispers his conscience fed to him with closed eyes, starting to believe what he thought. He was doomed from the start, why they bothered to prolong the inevitable he wasn't sure. No one forgives and forgets that easily. When everyone was boring their gaze right into someone, waiting for them to slip up; anyone is bound to snap and just give in under the pressure eventually. He had clasped his hands together at one point; the pain in his fingers long forgotten.

_'Just give up. Confess you committed the murder of Dumbledore and be done with it. You're alone in this battle against the law.'_

Draco wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard his father stir nearby. He raised his head to look Lucius' way for the first time since he arrived; he looked utterly worn out and exhausted, as were they all. If Lucius was just as freaked out about tomorrow as Draco was, he was hiding it very well. He had moved to stand beside him and rested a clammy hand on Draco's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm sure they will just charge you as a minor; if that is the case then you should be more than alright."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I doubt that, but I suppose we will wait and see."

Lucius gave Draco's shoulder another gentle squeeze before he made his way to the door, pausing briefly after opening it, letting a stream of candle light pour its way in from the corridor. The sudden brightness hurt his retinas that Draco recoiled further onto his bed and closed his eyes.

"Try and get some rest, son. And please keep that temper in check; it will do you no good in the end."

And he was alone with his own presence as company. The peaceful sleep he desired never came; but the nightmares did.


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** *phew* I'm alive! Here it is, the trial chapter. Boy was it fun to write. I hope you all enjoy it and hope it was worth the wait. Also, it is pretty long, I plan to have longer chapters moving forward, more to read and enjoy! :D

**8/17/13:** This chapter has been revised.

-I'd like to dedicate this chapter to OakStone730.-

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_Morning of June 23rd, 1998_

"May the court come to order, please?"

The voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt echoed throughout the large court room as he called for its attention. The room became quiet for a brief moment, but the low, audible whispers quickly resumed as the Wizengamot settled into their designated area. Kingsley had taken his seat in front of the others and fiddled around with various parchments as the attorneys of both the defense and prosecution took their seats behind their respective desks on each side of the court floor.

Instead of sitting near the back like the other trials, Narcissa and Lucius sat in the front row, as close to Draco as they could physically get without being right beside him. Draco sat stock still with his head slightly bowed over the desk, his hands tightly clasped together as if he was in some kind of silent prayer. As the room settled down, he adjusted his posture when the attorney seated himself beside him; he spared a glance toward him before turning to seek out his parents. Finding them easily, he took them in carefully, as if it would be the last chance he would get.

The hope he wanted to feel after seeking his parents out did not come. The way they held themselves looked too stiff, too forced. Their faces looked too calm and, perhaps, even… proud? '_Maybe not proud, perhaps they're just relieved the legal system would finally take their failure of a son off their hands.'_ Draco couldn't hold back the shudder his conscience had triggered.

"This is trial number twenty-seven with the defense Draco Lucius Malfoy, age eighteen, against the prosecutor representing the wizarding world at 7am on June 23rd, 1998. The crimes documented are as follows…"

He tuned out the minister at that point not needing a recap of all the wrong he'd done being told by a third party. It was all most likely twisted and exaggerated by now anyway. No one was going to help him anymore at this point, already beyond the point of no return. He didn't even trust his own attorney to provide one hundred percent of his service today because everyone knew what he had done; everyone knew what his family had done, his attorney was probably prejudiced and just might overlook the crucial minor details.

_'You should have kept your head down better,'_ his inner thoughts sneered. _'Shut up.'_ Last thing he needed was his own mind mocking him, the dirty looks and indistinguishable – but possibly nasty – whispered comments were enough. The minister had said something that shifted the atmosphere in the room then. To his utter horror, Draco snapped his attention back to the present to see why exactly this was the case.

"…The Wizengamot will acknowledge that, although some of the listed crimes were committed while the suspect was under the age of seventeen, the court will be handling the case under the fullest extent of the law and the defendant will be tried as an adult. As stated in the _Wizarding Laws & Magical Bindings _regarding the handling of _Underage Magic _on page 327, Section 6, Paragraph 1:

-Suspected offenders under the age of seventeen may be tried as an adult before the Wizengamot Court if the suspect in question has attempted or successfully committed a crime that falls under any of the listed below, knowingly and fully aware of their actions and consequences of said crimes, if valid evidence and witnesses are provided. The following list is subject to these conditions, once validation is obtained, including but not limited to:

o The use of the Unforgiveable Killing Curse, Cruciatius Curse, or Imperius Curse.

o The use of any cursed objects deemed fatal that has successfully been utilized.

o The use of any fatal poisons that have successfully been utilized.

Using an indirect source to perform a desired crime listed below in the form of bribery, blackmailing, or hiring a hit man. The crimes performed with these methods include but are not limited to:

o Murder

o Torture

o Couriers: using a separate source as a delivery agent.-

"Please also note that the use of a Legilimens, Pensieve, and Veritaserum will not be used unless under extreme circumstances and that all evidence and facts will be re-evaluated before the suspect is sentenced…"

The piece of news had Draco's veins run cold. This was not mentioned in the pre-trial briefing at all. _'Looks like you got a cell in Azkaban with your name written all over it.'_ Great, his father had to go and jinx that tiny shred of hope the night before by assuring Draco that he would be tried as a minor. Of course the books had something like that written in it; why wouldn't they? His case fell under all of those things. All. Of. Them. _'Except the Killing Curse and murder, you wimp.'_ Draco gritted his teeth behind closed lips, glancing at his attorney. Where was the objection to this outlandish proposal which had just been dropped in their laps? Apparently he was not far off by assuming that this attorney will slack on his duties today.

"Mr. Malfoy, please take your seat at the stand."

Draco slowly rose to his feet. Keeping his gaze to the floor, he moved to the center of the room where a lone table and chair rested. The chair faced away from the minister and to the audience instead, allowing everyone present to easily view him. What made him uncomfortable was he couldn't see Kingsley unless he turned half-way around.

The prosecutor, known as Garrett Bings, rose from his seat once Draco was reseated at the stand. Lightly clearing his throat, he fished out a scrap of parchment that rested under several others, barely looking it over. He straightened up, cupped his hands together behind his back, and moved away from his desk to pace the floor laid in front of Draco. The way the man walked so self-righteously had the blood in Draco's veins boiling; this was going to be a rough ride.

"Mr. Malfoy, there have been claims that you became a Death Eater during the summer of 1996 at the age of sixteen. Will you validate this?"

Draco swallowed and refrained from lowering his eyes, not giving Garrett the satisfaction to witness a sign of intimidation. He was prepared for these questions, he knew how he'd answer them, but he didn't think admitting his crimes in front of an entire room of people, who have had time to draw their own conclusions, would be so difficult. "Yes."

"Would you be more specific as to when?"

"My initiation was on June 28th," Draco's right hand subconsciously went to rest on the opposite arm in his lap. "1996, in case that wasn't clear," he added smugly.

Coming to the conclusion that he was condemned from the beginning, he decided he would go down while preserving the remaining scraps of his pride. Being a condescending brat was one of his fortes, and if Garrett was going to be a prat right out of the gate, why not fight fire with fire?

"Right..." The prosecutor muttered before continuing. "Do you wear the Dark Mark on your left forearm?"

"Yes."

"In order to validate your answer, will you present the Mark to the court?" Garrett stopped his cocky pace across Draco's line of sight and turned toward him, flashing a cruel smirk his way before placing an impassive mask back on to face the court. He was enjoying every second of the young man's humiliating situation, and he had only just begun.

Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up behind the stand, purposely fighting with the buttons on the cuff of his left sleeve; court wasn't fancy enough for cufflinks. Slowly rolling up the sleeve, he turned his forearm inward as he did so to temporarily conceal the faded, grey scar. Stopping the sleeve at the elbow, he hesitated, suddenly feeling very aware of all the eyes on him, or more specifically, his arm. Closing his eyes, he slowly lowered his forearm in front of him, revealing the remains of his Dark Mark to the court. Lucky for him, his skin was naturally pale, so the hue of grey left behind looked more like a permanent smudged bruise from afar.

Garrett approached him to examine the Mark better, going the extra mile by grabbing his wrist to steady the shaking arm before flagging the photographer over. The man had not been gentle during the needed procedure for the Wizengamot court files, purposely twisting his arm and wrist in unnecessary ways to "catch the light better." When Garrett was finished scrutinizing the scar and released him, Draco swore his wrist was sprained, cringing when the numbness was quickly replaced with a throbbing ache. Quickly pulling his sleeve back down and resuming his seat, he carefully rolled his sore wrist under the table in circles to regain some circulation.

The prosecutor resumed his slow, ridiculous taunting stroll across the floor as he continued his questions. "Mr. Malfoy, are you aware that you're the youngest registered Death Eater in the Ministries records to date?"

"Lucky me," Draco muttered under his breath before providing a more appropriate answer. "No."

"Would you enlighten the Wizengamot on your reasoning?"

Draco took in a deep breath, not expecting that question to come up at all. Mutters from the audience broke the silence as Garrett turned on his heel to lean against his desk off to the left, waiting greedily for Draco to respond. Draco gave him a sharp pointed glare that was cut off by Glen Floggs, his own attorney, who distracted him. "Objection. Minister I do not find the prosecutors question to be valid to the case and its details. It is too generalized and broad."

Draco felt his whole body relax at the objection, he really did not want to recite his reasons on why he became a Death Eater in front of half of the magical community. He hoped Kingsley would agree with Glen, but to his dismay, the minister took Garrett's side. "Overruled. Please elaborate with your answer, Mr. Malfoy."

A sickening feeling settled in Draco's gut when he caught his mother's figure stiffen as she grabbed his father's arm, her face showing genuine concern for her son. He wished he could hear what Lucius whispered to her because it relaxed her form after a moment, but the grip on his arm had not loosened. He looked down at his hands, finding a lone hangnail fascinating on his thumb while still feeling unsure of how to respond or what to do. _'Should I lie? Sugarcoat it? Spill my soul out to these people? I got myself into this disaster; I'm the only one that can dig my way out or get buried trying.'_

The honest answer to the question would most likely break his parents, for he never fully disclosed the private conversation between Voldemort and him before he was branded, nor when he was given his assignments. It was certainly going to test his psyche, and that would most likely snap in the process as well. _'It's like reliving the horrible nightmare all over again.'_

The silence ticked on and Draco knew the room was growing impatient to hear his response, yet he could not muster up the courage to speak. He closed his eyes and focused on keeping his heartbeat steadied and his breathing calm, waiting for a hole to open up beneath him and swallow him so it all could be over. He heard someone stir in their seat but did not dare open his eyes to see who it was; he felt safer this way, if he went to scan the world around him right now he'd most likely either pass out or vomit. Someone cleared their throat then.

"Minister, my client seems to be finding the question difficult to answer. May I ask more direct questions that parallels what the prosecutor requested in order to retrieve the desired information?"

'_Thank Salazar.' _Draco let out a quiet breath in relief, letting it relax his rigid body. He slowly let the world come back into focus, eyes fixed on Glen as he waited for him to provide him with more direct questions; those were easier to focus a response on. Assuming Kingsley approved, the attorney gave Draco a quick, reassuring smile. He could already sense Garrett seething in the corner from his question being dismissed by the defense. Draco took back all his negative thoughts from earlier about his attorney not performing his best, grateful he already bailed him out of a difficult situation.

"Did you willingly become a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"Will you please elaborate as to why you became one?" The attorney gave Draco a slow nod, indicating he could get away answering with the bare minimum on details. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pondered on how to word his response that he wouldn't choke on.

"I… well… eleven of _his_ best followers had recently become incapacitated, they needed replaced and I was one of the replacements." That sounded alright, a generalized response that suited to the questions requirements. Why was that so hard to say when Garrett asked a similar question? He wasn't about to ridicule his family willingly if he could avoid it, and he didn't have to relive the more personal details of the incident, either.

"Your first assignment as a Death Eater was to have your allies infiltrate Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, in order to distract the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix, so you could assassinate the Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," Glen stated simply before taking his seat. Garrett didn't appear to be satisfied, pushing himself away from his desk to pace forward, stopping only a few feet away and nearly glaring at Draco in the meantime as he gave his next question.

"How many times did you attempt your… _assignment_?"

"Three times."

"Over the span of…?"

"A year," Draco nearly snapped back, this man was really starting to get to him. From the corner of his eye, he caught Glen signaling him to add a little more detail to the answer. "of the 1996 to 1997 school year."

"From an undisclosed source, you attempted to utilize a cursed necklace and poisoned mead, both being delivered by the use of two separate couriers. Is this correct?"

Draco had to bite his tongue to keep the scoff escaping his throat, he seriously was going to pick into the finer details, wasn't he? His fingers mindlessly sought out the hangnail he spotted earlier to pick at it, receiving comfort from the gesture. "It is."

"In which case critically injured two students instead?"

"Yes."

"Your final attempt at assassinating the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was clearly successful?"

Noticing Glen was about to object to the accusing-like question, Draco quickly beat him to the punch, not caring how the question was worded. "No, it wasn't."

The audience reacted negatively to the response; the outraged cries quickly erupted in the overcrowded room. Draco knew he had no one to vouch his answer, except the Death Eaters that were present, but they were either imprisoned or dead at this point. Their testimony on it would fall on deaf ears regardless, and the only person he'd trust giving one in his favor would be Severus Snape. In other words, he could only hope the people that mattered believed him. The noise in the room was almost deafening, but the voice of Kingsley boomed over them all.

"Order! Order!" He yelled using the Sonorus Charm with little result, "Silence!" The room grew instantly quiet, Draco assumed he had to result in using a very strong, non-verbal Silencio Charm as it looked like some people were still talking, but no words were made. Garrett's expression was mixed with surprise and outrage, and Glen seemed the least effected in the room by the answer. Draco had made sure his own attorney knew he was not a murderer.

"Mr. Bings, please keep your questions professional and free of accusations. I will remove you from the court if it happens again; this is your only warning." Kingsley specified sternly to the prosecutor. "Mr. Malfoy," Draco turned in his seat to give his attention to the minister, "Do you have someone that can validate your answer?"

Draco lightly shook his head. "Just my own word, sir. You can ta–"

"I can vouch for him." An all too familiar voice sprang from nowhere.

The onlookers and reporters searched the room for the source of the voice. It didn't take Draco even half a heartbeat to hone-in on Harry, and his dynamic duo sidekicks sitting in the stands. He gave them all a confused half-glare. The weasel looked irked with Potter for speaking up, and Granger just looked unsure. _'When did they even get here?'_

He wanted to drop his head in his hands in shame as Harry started to make his way onto the floor, but he couldn't tear his eyes off the green-eyed savior. This whole day was now added to his list of most humiliating moments once Potter decided that he needed to interfere. Dumbledore called it "moral fiber", but he didn't need any more of Potter's pity or self-righteous attitude. And how could he vouch on his word? He wasn't even there when the murder happened. He tuned out the whole room as he watched Harry take a seat in the vacant chair beside Glen.

"Silence, everyone! Order!" Kingsley shouted once more, this time the court complied with no problem. He looked to Harry at that moment with a surprised look in his eyes, but gestured for Harry to stand. "Mr. Potter, you can validate that Mr. Malfoy did not assassinate the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore?"

"I can, sir. Severus Snape performed the… uh, task," Draco stared at Harry in shock, who only briefly met his eyes before turning his attention back to Kingsley, "I was there, in hiding, and witnessed the whole thing. Draco only disarmed Dumbledore before the Death Eaters and Snape arrived."

Garrett slammed a fist on the desk as a result of his shocked rage before taking a seat, knowing at this point anything he said would be dismissed now that Harry Potter took over the floor. No one took notice of the angered prosecutor as Kingsley nodded while contemplating Harry's statement. "Mr. Malfoy, is this correct?"

Draco turned his chair so he sat at an angle, able to look the minister's way while he was being addressed. That was around the time that the realization hit him; there were two brooms in the astronomy tower that night, and now it made sense as to why. Looking Harry's way with mute understanding, he nodded in response. "Yes sir, that's correct."

"Mr. Bings, you may proceed with your questioning," Kingsley permitted as he leaned back in his seat, "Mr. Malfoy, would you please reposition yourself."

Complying in silence, Draco turned back to face the court, watching Harry take a seat while exchanging undistinguished words to Glen from the corner of his eye. _'What is Potter on about?' _Garrett shuffled through more parchment in frustration before he finally stood back up and took to the floor once more. "Mr. Malfoy, do you have a wand currently in your possession?" He asked, exasperated.

Draco raised his brow in confusion as he looked to the prosecutor; the direction he decided to take with his new set of questions was nearly jarring after what was just revealed. "No."

"Do you currently know the whereabouts of the wand in question?"

Draco gave a light shrug, refraining from rolling his eyes. Looking in Harry's direction briefly, he responded coolly. "No." It wasn't a complete lie. Who knew? Maybe Potter lost it, or had already snapped it out of spite. "Your guess is as good as mine."

After a couple seconds of quiet grumbling from Garrett while he shuffled through some parchment again, he looked to Kingsley after retrieving the desired document. "Minister, since we have no wand to examine, I would like to request–"

"We have it, minister." Glen chimed in as Harry stood up to pull out Draco's wand from a pocket, placing it on the desk in front of him before resuming his seat. _'Isn't that just peachy? The both of them are conspiring against me now.' _Draco thought sarcastically. Garrett slumped back into his seat, shuffling through even more parchment in defeat, discarding ones he no longer needed into a suitcase while grumbling under his breath. Kingsley flagged over someone out of Draco's line of sight, which was locked onto his wand. His right hand instinctively twitched, longing to hold the intricate piece of wood once more. He never thought he'd see it again.

The person Kingsley summoned approached the defenses' desk and retrieved the wand, looking it over carefully before walking toward Draco. Stopping a foot or so away, the short and somewhat stocky man held the wand out to him across his palms as if presenting it to him; Draco fought the urge to reach out and take it.

"Ist zis your vand? Hatzorn vood, ten inches vis unicorn 'air core?" The man asked slowly, his thick German accent would make it difficult to understand otherwise. Draco nodded in response, feeling slightly intimidated by the stone cold expression on the man's face while also trying to ignore a pair of unwanted eyes that grazed over him.

"Yes."

"Have you had any other wands in your possession since the loss of this one?" Glen asked shortly after.

"No," he lied without thinking. He heard someone clear his throat and tore his gaze from the wand, meeting a serious look in Harry's emerald eyes. The look told him that if he wasn't going to cooperate, then he would speak up, making Draco look bad in turn. Merlin forbid that Harry Potter's word would be final once his case was heard.

"No… I lost the other one I acquired during… while at Hogwarts."

Damn, he had stumbled over that like a train wreck. Cursing under his breath, he focused extra hard on keeping his head and eyes facing straight ahead. He couldn't afford to crumble under Potter's gaze again; if not for the general public than for his own unstable pride. At that point the stocky man moved away from Draco, pulling out his own wand, he directed his attention to the minister.

"Sir, I vill now perform Prior Incantato, it vill schow zee vands memory of all zee shpells used," the man explained, taking in a breath, "To clarify, you only vant zee last two years eckstracted?"

"This is correct," Kingsley responded. The man nodded and flicked his wrist in a fluid motion that had the hawthorn wand lazily float in front of the short man at chest level. Moving to the tip of the wand, he rested his own in front of it and muttered quietly under his breath for several long seconds. After a full two minutes of complete silence that followed, the man pulled back his wand and a dull greyish green substance threaded out of Draco's wand. He watched with amazement as the colored thread continued to emerge from his wand and twirl its way upward as it grew infinitely longer. After a time the thread changed colors, golden yellow color to be more precise, and soon the colored substance whirled its way half way to the ceiling.

Draco couldn't help but be somewhat impressed with the person who performed the Prior Incantato spell, withdrawing a large amount of a wand's memory all at once must take extreme skill, and possibly needed a solid understanding of Wandlore knowledge as well. Examining the thread-like substance strung out in front of him, Draco noticed the thread had small orbs of various colors entwined within the thread; those must be the spells.

"Sir, zis golden zread ist Mr. Potter's memory signature; zee shpells he used ven he came into possession of zee vand. Do you vish to keep zis zread active?" The minister must have silently declined because in a swift wave of the man's wand, the gold thread was clipped from the grey-green one and disappeared. With another wave, the string coiled itself downward before weaving its way back to the ceiling, these orbs colors were flat compared to the ones that were on the gold thread that were glowing their respective colors; this difference must indicate the age of the spells.

"I 'ave adjusted zee memory zread to start at zee oldist date requested." The hawthorn wand rested back in the short man's hand why the string lingered attached to the tip. Garrett apparently caught his second wind, already standing near the wand handler before anyone noticed he moved. He had a new opportunity to condemn Draco with the choice of spells used. Garrett spoke quietly to the shorter man and in response he flicked Draco's wand a tad to adjust the thread that stretched out across the room. The wand handler then responded to the prosecutor briefly a moment later before Garrett gave his attention to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, according to what you've already stated, this string of spells in front of you were used from June 28th through the 31st of August, 1996. Will you elaborate on the reasoning the Unforgivable Curses were used during this time frame?" Garrett pointed to several orbs in their respective shades of green that differentiated each unique spell that scattered across the threaded timeline.

Straightening in his seat, Draco sorted through his memory while staring at a few particular green orbs entwined within the thread near the end before the thread pointed upward.

"Training," he drawled, leaning back into his seat and squaring his shoulders.

"Training," Garrett repeated annoyingly, "who did you perform these Unforgivables on?"

"The Lestrange family's house elf."

"All these Unforgivables in this time frame were performed on a house elf?"

"No." Draco responded before realizing it. His eyes hadn't moved from the last row of Unforgivables in question since they were revealed. "Not the last few there."

The prosecutor folded his arms in front of him, raising a brow with interest. "Care to state who or what they were used on?"

"They were used on me," he muttered; looking away from the spells to skim over his parents confused faces before pointing his gaze downward.

"How many weren't used on a house elf?" Glen asked gently.

"Five."

Garrett nearly scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "Why did you use five Unforgivables on yourself, with your own wand?"

"I didn't…" He snapped back, sending a scathing look the prosecutor's way. "My Aunt Bellatrix used them on me with my wand."

The wand handler pointed the area out to Garrett, who went silent at the threads' color change around the curses in question. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, not sure what to say as he examined the grey-green thread turning jet black around the spells before returning to grey-green. He noticed Harry leaned toward Glen from the corner of his eye and he snapped his head their way, he was not in the mood to have questions be asked by Potter. Glen stood up then and looked to Garrett, who still was at a loss for words. Draco focused on his attorney, willing him with a firm look to not further ask about it, but was completely ignored.

"Which Unforgivables did she perform on you?"

"The Imperius and the Cruciatus Curses," he stated without emotion in his words or face after a moment. His grey eyes dulled as they turned away from the spells to stare ahead, his insides were in a nauseating turmoil as he fought to keep himself from completely losing it. Lowering his eyes to the table in front of him, he remembered the incident all too well. He felt his hands trembling under the table that he clutched them in fists in an attempt to stop it. A fingernail automatically started to claw vigorously on his thumbs cuticle once more, distracting him enough to cease the shakiness. Before he knew it, he continued on speaking in a low volume, causing everyone to lean forward and strain their ears in order to listen.

"She didn't think my wand was performing adequately and wanted to test it. I was unaware she was going to test it on me, though. The wand was fine; she just wanted to make a point that I was lacking the desire to cause pain. Using the Imperius Curse on me; I, in turn, used the Cruciatus Curse on myself with her wand that provided the same…" He swallowed the bile that rose up suddenly back down before choking out the rest, "…results as hers had. The last one was just her reminding me what pain felt like."

Draco felt those pestering green eyes on him again, but he did not look up to meet them. He also sensed his parents staring him down but he didn't acknowledge them, either. He flinched lightly at the stinging pain he now felt from the now deeply torn hangnail. Examining his damaged finger, the wound he caused now bled freely, the sight made him nauseous that he averted his eyes and tucked his thumb under his other fingers to hide it from prying eyes. His psyche snapped under the pressure, and he felt utterly disgusted with himself for it.

_'At least,' _his conscious whispered mockingly, _'it wasn't about your encounter with the Dark Lord. No, but it was equally degrading.'_ One thing is for sure, the rest of the trial couldn't get any worse after this.


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I was humbled by the responses the previous chapter received so much I decided to extend the trial scene. It took quite some time as it was not in my original plans, but I managed to scrape together enough content to write it. I hope you enjoy and any questions, comments, concerns, mistakes found, etc. are appreciated!

**8/17/13:** This chapter has been revised.

**Warning:** This chapter is a bit graphic and a little gory. There is implied assault and subtle undertones of rape mentioned. I decided it wasn't severe enough to earn an M rating yet, so please tread cautiously and know that you were alerted.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

_Mid-morning of June 23rd, 1998_

Sitting alone in a small office with his head in his hands, Draco attempted to regain his composure and keep his head from spinning out of control. He was relieved to get out of the hot seat for a few minutes, especially after feeling so vulnerable when he openly confessed with very little persuasion that he was tortured. It almost felt like an out of body experience, except he had lost control of what he was saying rather than losing control of his body. The un-comforting realization of stress inducing such behavior in him made him feel dreadfully ill, the years of practiced control of emotions and confidence completely forgotten in the matter of seconds. _'What if it happens again? I'd become an emotional wreck.'_

His overall mood dropped considerably at this line of thought; he was irritated at himself for slipping up, afraid it was going to happen again, and ashamed for acting so weak in public. All this caught up at once to the front of his mind that he wished he could just turn off his thoughts. A tension headache was soon triggered to accommodate his overwhelmed mind, shifting Draco's mood to testy levels of aggravation.

Glen walked in minutes later, and Draco looked up to greet him, stopping short when he saw Harry following in behind him. Draco's solemn expression went cold, "What's he doing here?" He jerked his head in Harry's direction, not bothering to look his way.

Glen took a seat on the other side of the desk while Harry went to stand nearby, tucking himself in the corner of the room. "I'm helping your case, Malfoy," Harry stated warily before Glen had a chance to formulate a response; he sounded as exhausted as Draco felt.

Draco looked to Harry with a glare. "I never asked for your help, Potter."

"Whether you asked or not, you're still getting it."

"I don't want your help!" Draco snapped, slamming a hand abruptly on the desk as he jumped to his feet.

Harry gripped the handle of his wand concealed in his pocket, more out of instinct rather than feeling threatened at Draco's sudden outburst. Glen raised a hand in front of the blond wizard, flagging him to sit back down. Harry physically relaxed once Draco was reseated. "Just calm down and keep a level head. We don't have a lot of break time left, Draco. And much to your clear dislike of Mr. Potter, you do need his help to give you any chance of avoiding Azkaban."

"That's where everyone wants me," Draco hissed under his breath, scowling at his lap where his hands were now entwined. He turned his attention to Harry a moment later, "You owe me nothing, so why are you bothering?"

"I don't need a reason to help you, Malfoy. Believe it or not my words have influence in that room. Influence to keep you out of jail. Let's just say someone out there does care about where you end up, despite what you think," Harry quietly commented. Draco narrowed his eyes to hide his bewilderment, unsure of what Harry meant with his comment at the end.

Glen sighed, shaking his head as Harry moved closer to the attorney's side. Draco shifted his cold stare between his attorney and Harry, trying to mask his growing inner turmoil with his perfected emotionless expression. The two started muttering among themselves, not bothering to address or include Draco in the conversation. His headache hindered his desire to figure out why Harry was helping him – or rather helping his attorney help him. Dropping his head in his hands, he tangled his fingers gently through his hair to try and massage away some of the ache; it always seemed to work when his mother used to do it. The incoherent muttering wasn't helping.

Draco threw himself back in his chair in frustration after several seconds of being ignored, his failed attempts to control his anger and his need to listen in on the conversation was done in vain. He had to resist flinching from the action; the sudden jerking movement he made further aggravated the headache. The wooden chair legs screeching against the floor in protest also hadn't helped. His behavior ceased the quiet conversation between Glen and Harry to look his way with slight irritation. They watched the blond's impassive mask crack and clear raw anger seeped into Draco's storm grey eyes.

"Oh don't let my interruption disturb the discussion of my fate without me, it's of zero importance to me," Draco hissed bitterly, "Do go on, but don't go expecting a raise to cover your assistant's contributions, Floggs. Great lawyer my bloody arse–"

"Just shut it and listen," Glen snapped suddenly, "Your alibis are pretty unstable, a lot of them had witnesses that are now dead or imprisoned and would be deemed unreliable by the prosecutor. Mr. Potter is the only other person whose story matches with yours where it matters, and right now you need him to vouch for you if you don't want to go to jail. Be thankful he reconsidered speaking on your behalf when he did and bothered to submit your wand to the court, without either you would've been sunk from the start. Now, you just need to cooperate and let him help defend you and cease with your smart mouth responses, they are not helping. Understand?"

Draco glared at Glen for a long while, trying to process what was just explained to him while in a fit of rage. His composure had crumbled under pressure because of simple observations; his only defense he had left was to be a smug arse. He could only pray that nothing else he'd rather forget would be brought up during questioning that was of little importance to his case. He really didn't want to face prison, and if Potter was the only key to stay out of there and get this trial over with then so be it. As if he had any other choice in the matter. He glanced toward Harry, who was watching him intently as he waited for a reply, Draco found the look discomforting rather than reassuring. His anger simmered out as he rubbed a hand over his forehead before resting it on his arm that lay on the desk, feeling defeated. "Yeah, yeah. Sure, whatever. Can I get a headache remedy potion? My skull is about to split open."

.oOo.

"Court has resumed at 9:25am. Prosecution has the floor," Kingsley announced, taking his seat shortly after.

Garrett took his time to gather his new arsenal of questions, taking a moment to examine the wand's memory thread while speaking to the wand handler. Nodding a few times, he straightened up a tad and gave Draco his full but undesired, bigotry attention. He pointed at several silvery-yellow orbs that scattered down the line before speaking. "This spell appears several times from mid-October, 1996 through the end of June, 1997. What is it?"

Draco examined the string of spells for a moment, vaguely curious how the wand handler could tell the month by just looking at it. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he felt very exposed while sitting in the center of the room: conscious of every eye on him, aware of every unintelligible whisper spoken, the scribbles of quills scratching parchment amplified, and knowing everyone there heard every detail of his accidental confession. Already the sweat broke out on his brow, and his headache threatened to return. He shrugged subconsciously, physically attempting to brush off and ignore anyone unimportant. Eying the orbs weaved throughout the thread-like substance that stretched around the room; he took his time to respond in order to concentrate on not throwing up. _'The wand handler probably already told him what the spell is anyway.'_

"It's a restoration spell."

Garrett raised a brow in amusement, turning on a heel to parade around the room. "Restoration spells are a very complex level of magic. It takes a great deal of skill to perform them and is usually only used by wizards and witches that repair and restore damaged enchanted objects. Why would a sixth year student need to learn such a spell?"

'_And here we go…' _Draco shifted in his seat, knowing what lay ahead. _'Suppose I should just get straight to the point.' _"I needed to repair a Vanishing Cabinet."

"A Vanishing Cabinet? Those are pretty uncommon. They are also pretty temperamental, if used while damaged they can be fatal, and they are very difficult to repair and restore to pristine, working condition," Garrett explained loudly as if in a classroom full of morons. Draco refrained from rolling his eyes.

"How did you learn how to restore the damaged Cabinet?"

"Books."

Garrett went red in the face, not able to hide his frustration. "_Books_ on Vanishing Cabinets are difficult to come by, just like what they are written about. How did you get ahold of them?"

Draco couldn't help but conceal an amused smirk behind a hand at how annoyed Garrett was getting despite the fact he was getting the answers he wanted. He purposely tapped a finger against his jaw in false contemplation. "I acquired what I needed from Silvia's Tomes."

"The bookstore in Knockturn Alley?"

"Objection, minister," said Glen as he rose from his seat, "I do not find the information or questions that are being asked relevant to the case."

Kingsley cleared his throat and gave a nod in agreement, prompting Glen to retake his seat. "Mr. Bings, please get back on track. We do not need a lesson on the rarity of Vanishing Cabinets, how to repair them, and where to acquire certain books about them."

Garrett stopped abruptly, reluctantly obliging the minister's request. "My apologies, minister. I promise I have a point to be made."

"Then please make it or move on," Kingsley replied sternly.

Garrett nodded in understanding, grumbling under his breath as he turned to resume his bored pace. He managed to sneak a nasty glare Draco's way, unsettling the blond enough that Draco averted his eyes. "How did you learn about the Vanishing Cabinet?"

"A colleague ended up getting trapped in a damaged one at school a while back. After speaking to him about it I figured out it was a Vanishing Cabinet. I also figured out the one he was trapped in at Hogwarts was linked to the one in Borgin and Burk's."

"Why did you need to repair it?"

Draco took a deep breath before slowly releasing it, letting himself relax further into his seat. He was not going to let himself freeze up because of the unpleasant topic. "It is what I used to let the Death Eaters into the castle."

Garrett let out an exasperated sigh, exhausting the subject quicker than he anticipated. Several glares were directed Draco's way from the audience; he kept trained eyes on his wand instead, preventing them from wandering up to meet them. Garrett turned back to the threads of spells presented, scanning it over carefully. The German pointed at three silvery-violet orbs and a transparent blue orb as Garrett spoke, Draco assumed he was telling him which spells they were once more. Turning back to Draco, Garrett held a cheeky smile as he waved a hand toward the spells.

"It seems you have a few more spells in here that aren't on a student's curriculum to learn. They're three quite old healing charms; or so I'm told. Who were these used on?"

Draco lips parted to answer but stalled, a surge of distorted memories flooded his mind. A large portion of his sixth year was a blurred nightmare and he was thankful he couldn't recollect much from it until now. Snapping his eyes closed, he swallowed down the bile that tickled his throat while he focused on trying not to lose his grip on reality.

.oOo.

_Evening of June 12th, 1997_

A cold shiver engulfed Draco, forcing his eyes to reopen at the sudden change in room temperature. He wasn't in the courtroom anymore, but instead standing in a corridor at Hogwarts. It was unusually dark out and well after curfew, but he happened to be en route to the dungeons – one of his few premeditated paths he took to dodge Filch after leaving the Room of Requirement.

He turned a corner to head for the dungeons, stopping dead in his tracks moments later at what he saw; a younger Slytherin student stood over a girl he recognized to be a sixth year Slytherin. The boy's wand was drawn, tip lit, and pointing at the girl who was slumped over in tears; Draco easily recognizing him to be Elijah Rickman, a fourth year Slytherin and the girls' brother. What unnerved Draco was the way Elijah held himself: superior, a stance meant to demean its victim. Noticing the trail of blood at his feet, he immediately leapt aside to avoid standing in it as he moved back around the corner to drop his Disillusionment Charm. Lighting his wand quickly, he acted as if he hadn't just previously stumbled upon them.

"Come on and get up already, you're a pathetic..." He could barely hear the raven-haired boy demand in a stern but hushed voice_. 'Did he just say pathetic faker?' _The young wizard immediately noticed Draco after speaking. He watched as Elijah changed his whole demeanor and, for a fleeting moment, looked vaguely guilty.

"Malfoy, help me. My sister," Elijah pleaded as Draco dropped to his hands and knees in front of Violet, taking care to avoid the pooling blood around her as he looked her over. Her clothes were torn and bloodstained in several places, her face smeared with dried blood and tears. The cheek she cupped with a trembling hand was bleeding, and her other hand tugged uselessly at the torn material of her skirt in an attempt to conceal her over exposed thigh – Draco couldn't help but notice the blood trailing down her legs and thighs.

"What in Gaia's green earth happened, Rickman?" Draco nearly yelled at the boy, who still stood over his sister looking conflicted on what to do.

"I- I don't know. I heard her crying from the common room and found her this way."

"You're a bloody liar. What did you do to her?" Draco hissed, looking back at the girl's face. Her raven hair obstructed his view of the full damage. Gently moving it out of her face without touching her, he knew her name immediately: Violet Rickman.

"I wouldn't harm my own sister, Malfoy," Elijah growled in defense, "Just... please, help her. I can't get her to get up."

"Violet... what happened?" Draco asked gently, but he got no response or acknowledgement. Elijah kneeled down to place a gentle hand on Violet's shoulder, and as soon as he made contact, she immediately started thrashing and screaming.

"Get away from me! Get away!" She pushed herself feebly away from her brother, and Elijah's eyes flashed briefly but dangerously in the little light his wand gave off. Draco attempted to calm her, but she flinched and jerked away at his touch as well.

"_Shh, shh,_ Violet, _shh_. I'm trying to help you. It's okay," Draco said to reassure her, but she wasn't listening. He noticed that her breathing quickened, and her panic and shock from whatever happened to her started to constrict her breathing.

"Go get a professor," Draco commanded to Elijah. The boy rose to his feet and stepped out of Draco's line of sight into the shadows, flicking off his wand light as he did so. He remained there to quietly observe what Draco was going to do rather then find a professor, clearly not as concerned with Violet's condition as the blond wizard was.

"Consedeo," Draco uttered with a fluid wave of his wand over the girl's body. She immediately grew still as the calming charm took over. He carefully lifted her head up with a hand under her chin to assess the damage to her face properly. One of her eyes was swollen shut, a cheek was deeply gashed and her lip was split. Another but less deep cut followed her jawline.

"Holy Circe, what the hell happened?" he whispered venomously, trying to remember healing spells, any spell, to help her. He managed to recall one that slowed the bleeding and eased the swelling he came across once in an older spell book of his mother's. Unfortunately they were weak and not enough, as they weren't nearly as strong as their potion counterparts. Draco removed his cloak and carefully wrapped it around Violet. "I'm going to pick you up, okay? You need the hospital wing, bad. I'll take you; I'm not going to hurt you." She seemed to understand him as she held out shaky arms, and after a couple seconds of struggle, he lifted her in his arms. Violet huddled to his chest with her arms around his neck, her hair acting as a curtain to hide her face. She was surprisingly light, but Draco was silently thankful for it. He wasn't in the greatest shape himself right now to be carrying anyone.

"Is she going to be alright?" Elijah asked suddenly, startling Draco as he turned around.

"I told you to get a professor, so go get one already!" He snapped maliciously; his eerily calm tone intimidated the young student into submission. He turned and ran off in the general direction of Severus' room as Draco made careful haste to the hospital wing.

"Violet," Draco murmured, scared he would startle the girl into thrashing out again causing him to drop her. She inclined her head up just a tad in acknowledgement but said nothing. "What happened? The Healers will need to know…" She was quiet for a moment, tucking her head back into his shoulder as he approached his destination. He heard a faint noise come from her but couldn't make out what she said. Leaning just a bit closer, he strained his hearing to pick up her incoherent mutters. His eyes widened suddenly and a scared gasp escaped him once he deciphered her message.

"… Death Eater…"

Draco returned to the Slytherin dormitories over an hour later, forced to provide what little information he had to both the Healer and later Severus once he arrived. He quickly stripped off his sweater vest in desperation as he entered, wanting to get out of his now blood soaked clothes, get cleaned up, and curl safely under his waiting blankets with his drapes closed, separating him off from the world.

"Malfoy," he heard someone say from behind him as he fought with the buttoned cuffs of his sleeves – how he hated the school uniforms buttoned cuffed dress shirts – and he verbally groaned at the interruption. Making a half turn at the base of the dorms steps, he addressed the person behind him.

"Rickman," he stated through clenched teeth, not in the mood for the fourth year's small talk.

"How… how is my sister?" Elijah's tone faltered, but sounded genuinely concerned. Draco narrowed his eyes at the raven-haired boy, realizing something was off.

"You saw her yourself. Why aren't you up there with her?" he challenged, raising his chin up some as he turned fully around; using his height advantage to intimidate Elijah.

Elijah swallowed hard and looked away, knowing he was being cornered and interrogated by the blond. "I… I am too scared to go see her right now… she was so… bloody."

Draco couldn't help but scoff, rolling his eyes. "You're so full of it, Rickman. I know it was you that harmed her." He hissed without thinking. Elijah's eyes narrowed at the accusation, his demeanor changed to compliment his feeling of being threatened. He met Draco's glare with his own, tea green mixed with storm grey.

"Jumping to conclusions are we? Not the wisest thought process to have; it may eventually come back and nip you in the arse. Wouldn't want that, now would we?" Elijah approached Draco, not breaking eye contact as he did so, "I didn't do anything to her."

"Filthy liar as always," Draco snarled, turning on his heel to retreat to the dorms. "When I catch you in the act I hope you enj-"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Draco turned just in time to throw up a Shield Charm, absorbing Elijah's spell, but he missed the second spell that hit his wand arm, sending a very fast but extremely uncomfortable shock throughout his body so that he dropped his wand in surprise and needed to use the nearby wall as support to recover. Realizing he dropped his wand, he quickly went to grab it, but a foot almost crushed his hand as he did so and had a wand pointed at his neck. He looked up to witness Elijah's wild and dangerous glower looking back. He looked away immediately, wishing his wand was in closer proximity of his hand to ease his sudden venerable situation.

"I do not appreciate the insults, Malfoy! I would never touch my sister that would put her in her current condition, that's bloody repulsive, you sick freak." Elijah removed his wand from Draco's neck to press it under his chin, making Draco look back up at him. "I'd be careful what you say from now on. I've noticed you being a bit on the shady side yourself, and I may just 'jump to conclusions'," – He withdrew his wand to make air quotes – "and report you. I don't think the Aurors would fancy knowing a potential Death Eater was freely roaming around the school, acting dodgy and suspicious."

Elijah kicked the hawthorn wand and watched it roll effortlessly away for good measure before proceeding to his own dorm, shoving past the blond as he did so. He only stopped to turn slightly to look at Draco one last time. "Sweet dreams."

.oOo.

_Present Day; mid-morning of June 23rd, 1998_

"Mr. Malfoy?" Glen's voice echoed through Draco's head, but he remained in a daze.

_'There was so much blood.' _The hand on his shoulder sent a jolt through him, throwing him back to the present. His eyes darted around, remembering where he was. Glen was standing beside him, removing his hand from his shoulder as soon as Draco noticed him.

"Are you alright? You look..." Glen leaned closer and whispered, "…ghastly ill."

Afraid to verbally reply, Draco just gave a nod of his head and straightened in his seat. His body felt very stiff as he re-presented the high class posture. He felt a twinge of pain rest behind his shoulder blades when he discreetly stretched, causing an unexpected wince.

"I'm fine, " Draco finally managed to utter to his attorney. Glen seemed satisfied and turned to resume his post behind the defendant's desk.

"Mr. Floggs, do we need to issue a break for your client to gather his bearings?" Kingsley asked with an annoyed undertone for being obligated to offer a break.

"No, my client says he is okay to continue." Glen took his seat, flagging Draco to answer the question.

Draco stared ahead with slightly glazed eyes, his mind raced about everything at once that he ended up drawing a complete blank on what was asked minutes ago. Rather than having the prosecutor re-ask, he looked to the nearby threaded orbs to seek it.

"The healing spells I used are obsolete, replaced with potions which have been proven to be more potent and effective." He caught Glen shaking his head in the corner of his eye, insinuating his response was not even close to what the question entailed. Looking to the floor, he racked his mind to try and play it off. "I used them on a student I came across who was very hurt."

Garrett and Glen looked to Draco in surprise, clearly not expecting the spells to be used at school. Draco had revealed earlier that he regularly left the school grounds to attend various Death Eater meetings without being detected, so their assumptions were based from that information alone. This caused both attorneys ask separate questions simultaneously.

"Who was this student?"

"Who injured him or her?"

Draco slid his gaze from Garrett over to Glen, debating who he should answer first while wondering why it mattered. The information wasn't crucial to his crimes, or so he thought.

He spent many hours hung over her words before, deliberating if what she said was true, or if she only assumed whoever attacked her was a Death Eater. _"… Death Eater…" _Did a Death Eater really get into the castle? How? Through the Cabinet? Polyjuice Potion? Who could've it been? Doholov? Macnair? _'But she was a Slytherin pureblood, as far as I know she wasn't involved in any traitorous activities to deserve such a fowl… sick punishment…'_

He shuttered, casting those thoughts from his mind. He had his own suspicions of who was the culprit for the student's attack, but he was conflicted if he should express it out loud. Making careless accusations may not help his position. Turning his head to focus on the floor, he recalled the subtle but firm warning from the boy who was also at the scene of the crime._ "Jumping to conclusions are we? Not the wisest thought process to have; it may eventually come back and nip you in the arse. Wouldn't want that, now would we?"_

The one he suspected was none other than Elijah, but the boy's threat rang loud in his mind. What did he mean by that? _"I'd be careful what you say from now on. I've noticed you being a bit on the shady side yourself, and I may just 'jump to conclusions', and report you. I don't think the Aurors would fancy knowing a Death Eater was freely roaming around in the school, acting dodgy and suspicious." _

'_Oh… Right…' _Had he tip off the prosecutor? With what? Lies? Truths? What if nothing was done with the information Draco provided? _'You'd have to deal with Elijah yourself.'_ He cringed at that thought, _'Why are you afraid of a silly kid…?' _His conscience knew the answer; the young Rickman was a vicious, unstable, and borderline insane breed. He also knew how unpredictable and rash Elijah could be, knowing hardly any limits when it came to violence. He found himself rambling out an answer before he fully decided what to do; apparently his subconscious knew what was best before he realized it.

"I am not sure who or what attacked her. She claimed it was a Death Eater but… I wouldn't know how any got in. This happened a few days before the Cabinet was completely repaired… I didn't know her very well. Her name escapes me but… I do know she didn't survive the war."

"Are you saying her injuries were fatal during this time?" Garrett couldn't help but ask; following standard protocol to have no loose ends left to slip by.

"No. She recovered, but died in the war."

"Did you discover what exactly happened to her?"

Draco stalled; not finding the question necessary yet got no objection. "I didn't, no."

"Were her injuries caused by you?" Garrett asked boldly, suspicious of Draco's stalling.

Draco gave the man a harsh look, taking extreme offense to the question. Before he even bothered to give a firm response, the court seemed to take on a life of its own. The audience yelled questions to no one in particular, his own attorney was on his feet shouting to the minister to dismiss the unsuitable question, and the wand handler took this time to adjust the wand's memory while muttering to himself in German.

"Objection!"

Kingsley quickly got the court back under control with simple ease, passively waving Glen's objection off as if he never said anything.

"Mr. Floggs, Mr. Bings, please move on. We will get back to this attack on the girl and handle those details later, for now please continue to structure your questions around the infiltration of Hogwarts and Mr. Malfoy's involvement during the war, thank you."

.oOo.

A week and a half later the trials had finally come to a close. Kingsley Shacklebolt positioned himself in front of the tall lectern that overlooked the largest courtroom available in the dungeons of the Ministry of Magic. Scanning the overcrowded courtroom briefly, he cleared his throat before placing the tip of his wand to the side of his neck, the gesture silently casting the Sonorus Charm.

"May I have the court's attention, please?" The minister's voice echoed loudly across the room, overpowering the room's chatter. Soon everyone went completely silent, giving the room an ominous feeling to those whose fates were about to be decided.

"I will present each sentencing for all cases today; Friday, the 3rd of July, 1998 at 7am. All attorneys and their respective defendants should acknowledge that all rulings have been made by the Wizengamot and are considered final. No retrials will be administered, and the defendants will be allowed to present a new case during their hearings that will be arranged on a future date."

A witch dressed in plum colored robes approached the lectern and handed Kingsley a thick scroll of parchment. With a quick wave of his wand, the document sprang to life and hovered at eye level, unrolling some in the meantime in order to be read. Several names were called and, despite some surprising rulings, the entire room dared to not make a single noise, not wanting to miss any details.

"Mr. Rabastan Lestrange is found innocent and observed as a forced ally to You Know Who. However, he will serve two thousand one hundred and sixty hours of service to the Ministry, and will be under supervision of the Auror Department for five years due to the involvement and services performed during his time as a Death Eater.

"Mr. Elijah Nathan Rickman is found innocent and observed as a student following school protocols during the Death Eater's infiltration of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No punishment or services will be issued.

"Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy and Mrs. Narcissa Lesath Malfoy are found innocent and observed to have defected during the Battle of Hogwarts and aided Mr. Harry Potter to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named. However, each individual will serve fifty hours of service to the Ministry due to the involvement and services performed during their status as a Death Eater and supporter respectively.

"Mr. Lucius Abraxes Malfoy is found guilty in supporting, following, and participating in illegal actives of You Know Who as a dedicated Death Eater and has openly confessed these crimes. However, he has also been observed to have defected during the Battle of Hogwarts and, after very careful consideration, will be released of these charges due to this act. The Ministry will place him under supervision of the Auror Department for five years; as well provide various adequate services for the Ministry due to the involvement performed during his time as a Death Eater during this probation.

"Mr. Malfoy, you and your family are permitted to acquire new wands as they will be necessary to serve your services. You three will receive summons of service letters once new wands are obtained. It will be solely your responsibility to notify the Ministry as soon as this situation is rectified. Failure to do so will involve further consequences. I strongly advise to see to this task as soon as you are able."


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Just a nice wind-down chapter. After the 10k word, two-part trial marathon, I thought I would throw in some humor - if you can call it that? Depends on your taste in humor, I suppose. :)

-I'd like to dedicate this chapter to mrs. milfoy- *wink*

**Warning:** There is some descriptions of minor nudity and arousal ahead. Nothing serious, I just want to keep true to my promise about providing warnings. Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_Early afternoon of July 3rd, 1998_

All three of the Malfoys walked out completely and truly free – aside for their summons of service and Lucius' evasive details on his probation – all thanks to Harry's interference on two of the three trials. Draco wished his case went as fast as his mother's; hers made it look like a cakewalk, whereas both Malfoy men went through downright hell. Lucius' was probably worse by comparison as the prosecutor dragged out old evidence and witnesses from the First War for ammunition.

There was no longer any Aurors tailing after them and watching their every twitch, no more restrictions or house arrest, no more being wandless. Narcissa remained uneasy and concerned, however. The sentencing Lucius was given had her mind riddled with questions he refused to answer. Even their attorney, Glen, was cryptic about the entire situation and only provided vague answers. She did not like knowing Lucius was purposely hiding things.

Despite the delicious taste of freedom, the reality remained that everyone that knew they walked out free and unscathed despised them even more. Draco was a bit disappointed the Ministry never returned his wand to him, and he wondered what they did with it; give it back to Potter? Snap it?

The first thing the family did as soon as they were away from the Ministry of Magic was go straight to Diagon Alley for the three to acquire new wands. Being wandless was depressing for a wizard or witch and, unless they just so happened to be amazingly skilled at wandless magic, they were just as helpless. Doing things the Muggle way for two whole months was not only infuriating to the pureblood family, but degrading.

With no surprise, the only other wand shop aside from Ollivander's, who had yet to fully recover enough to repair and reopen the shop, was _Jimmy Kiddell's Wonderful Wands, _who easily turned the three away by merely seeing their faces. His parents were certainly not taking the rejection lightly, as it was another blow to their already destroyed dignity.

'_The stress must already be diluting my parents' minds to think the owner would happily fashion the two-faced family with new wands right after being released,' _Draco thought cynically with an inner scoff.

In the end, they were back home, still wandless. The new taste of freedom hadn't changed the fact neither of them felt their home was a home anymore. Lucius went straight to his study, whereas Narcissa paced the drawing room like a caged animal, angry over the wand ordeal and frustrated with Lucius. Then there was Draco who just looked completely lost, simply watching his mother pace the room while he gently leaned against the framed entryway of the drawing room. Observing her in the dead silence made him uneasy, so he decided to slip away and withdraw to his room. This was everyone's new routines, and as much as the family would deny it, anyone would have found it disturbing how disconnected the family seemed to be with each other.

.oOo.

_July 3rd, 1998_

_It is a strange feeling to know you had no control of your life for two solid years. My mother and I ended up being victims, forced to be at the mercy to an unstable psychotic wizard. My father… he hadn't helped the situation, but did he have much of a choice? I like to think so, but who dares to say no to a madman? The same wizard who managed to scar two eras of Great Britain's wizard history? Doesn't matter anymore; we're able to move on from it all and never look back. He is just another monster in a storybook, now._

_The summons of services is now the only concern. I am not looking forward to going back to Hogwarts if they send us there, not even to repeat my final year. Nothing but horrible memories is left in the rubble for me of that place. Who else will be there I wonder? My friends? Allies? Do I even have those anymore? Who wants to associate themselves with our family, the pariah's, the world's new bad omen...?_

_Speaking of horrible memories, my time in the Ministry's spotlight was a complete nightmare. I thought I knew what to expect, yet openly confessing to everything in front of everyone… it completely shattered the confidence I thought I had. No one should be placed under such a distressing situation like that. If Potter hadn't showed his face… I honestly don't know where I'd be now._

.oOo.

Draco tapped the tip of his quill on the corner of the page several times, fumbling around with what he just wrote in his head. '_Well, you pretty much are scum to the wizard world. Might as well of spat on everyone's face after your family's sentence was announced. Is Potter going to be expecting something in return after all he has done for Mother and I?' _His conscience hissed at the last sentence, and he physically cringed at how he used the word "scum" to describe his own family.

'_And what about Potter?' _What about him? He couldn't deny the shocked surprise he felt when the savior of the wizarding world willingly defended him and his mother. He certainly didn't rely or even expect it, but how he felt about it he wasn't really sure. Grateful perhaps? Why did he even bother stepping in to begin with?

'_He wants something. That has to be it.' _But what does someone that can have anything want from the Malfoys? He dwelled on the subject of Harry far longer than intended and decided he felt irritated by his interference. Sure, he may have got him out of a sentence to Azkaban, but it certainly wasn't going to help his already damaged public image. The writers at the _Daily Prophet_ were going to continue to have a field day with his family, maybe even blame them for somehow influencing Harry to vouch for them. They'd never personally question Harry's creditability, or at least not anymore.

He dropped his quill when he noticed the bottom corner of the page was completely black and the ink started to seep into the cracks and pores of his writing hand. "Wonderful." Grumbling to himself, he retreated to the adjoining bathroom to clean off his hand before it left a stain. _'You need to stop spacing off so much, you idiot.'_ His inner monologue was sure being pleasant today. Having his own mind for company for so long, maybe he finally did go mad.

Concluding that being holed up in the manor for over a year had finally damaged his psyche, Draco decided to take advantage of the outdoors. The suffocating and dense air that lingered around the house was probably part of the cause for his clouded mind. A good walk sounded strangely appealing, something he missed doing but he rarely even did beforehand as he frequently preferred to fly. He needn't worry about encountering anyone so close to his house after all; practically living in the middle of nowhere, and he had nothing to give away him being a wizard. His broom had been confiscated, much to his sever annoyance, and he still had no wand.

Making his way to the ground floor, he cracked the main door open before a thought crossed his mind; maybe he should tell someone he was going out so they wouldn't be worried. Re-securing the front door, he ducked his head into the drawing room where he figured his mother was still at, but instead it was empty. _'Odd, she was there not that long ago.'_

The next several places he checked turned up the same result: nothing. '_Where the heck did she go?' _he pondered in bewilderment, having looked in all the usual places of the vast home where his mother spent her time over the years.

The only other place he knew to look and find someone in the manor was his father's study; he really didn't want to resort in going to him. Ever since Lucius was broke out of Azkaban he became a different person. Desperate to redeem himself to the Dark Lord in any way possible, he resorted to using his family in subtle but various ways to try and achieve reinstatement into the proper ranks of power, going so far to express disappointment when he heard his son failed his task in killing the Headmaster. He even offered to punish Draco himself for it. Whether Lucius did this to try and ease the inevitable and painful punishment his son was going to receive or not was unknown, the gesture still had planted silent resentment in Draco, having no desire to interact or be around his father if he didn't have to be for the time being.

Finding himself at his father's study, he knocked three times on the heavy door and waited for a long minute before he heard the faint "Enter," on the other side. Draco pushed open the door and slowly stepped inside, instantly wanting to turn and leave once he saw his mother was not present. Instead, he decided against it, knowing it would be beyond rude to leave without a word. Not wanting to play hide and seek with her anymore, he guessed his father will just have to do. '_I hope he isn't in a testy mood…' _ He took a few steps closer to the desk Lucius was sitting behind; a _Daily Prophet_ concealed his face. Stopping just behind the two tall wing-backed chairs that faced Lucius' way, Draco stared at the paper for a moment to see if it would catch on fire with his gaze before Lucius folded the paper in half, revealing a curious look aimed at his son.

"Yes, what is it, son?"

"Have you seen Mother?" A strong smell started burning his sinuses as he approached. _'Firewhisky, perhaps?'_ This made him uneasy, alcohol always made his father unpredictable.

Lucius dropped his eyes to the paper, busying his hands with it by making neat half folds to mimic the creases already embedded in the parchment. The fidgeting made Draco feel more awkward than knocking to come in. In fact, he couldn't even remember when he was in there last. The next thing he knew, his eyes started to wander about the room; his father oblivious to it as he fiddled with the paper. Scanning across the L-shaped desk, he saw a small pile of three neatly stacked letters; the Ministry seal was hardly visible stamped with royal purple wax. The only other thing on the desk was a sealed inkwell placed on the right-hand side, a black feathered quill rested in its stand beside it.

The wall on his left had two empty portraits close to the desk, both had dark wood side tables positioned beside tall wing-backed chairs – one charcoal grey and the other deep red respectfully. He knew they were for his grandfather and great grandfather, who currently were not present. To the left of them an elaborate and detailed tapestry covered the high study's wall from floor to ceiling. Draco had to step back to get a better view. The top half had large silver tree branches with gold leaves covering them with random scatterings of emerald green, black, and silver leaves mixed among them. The trunk ended midway down where the bronze roots snaked from it toward the bottom of the tapestry. The names written within the roots had a sharp bold white cursive print. At that point Draco registered that it was the Malfoy family tree dating back to the eleventh century.

After another close examination, he saw that the colored leaves made up the family crest. A silver banner with the family motto –_ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper –_ weaved its way from the base of the tree outward. He knew the House of Black tapestry his mother had didn't look anything like this; the Black family tree only traced the dominate male line whereas the Malfoy tree tracked all lines up to the second or third generations on the females' side. The male side, of course, was more closely tracked. And like any other elitist pureblood family, the blood traitors or Squibs were conveniently and discreetly removed, never spoken of again.

He found his name and lightly traced over it with a finger, even the fabric was rich and smooth to the touch despite its age. The roots trailed past his name where they went blank. Before he could take anything else in, he shot his attention back to his father who was now starting to fiddle with the letters on his desk as he responded. "No, I haven't seen her. Why do you ask?"

"Uh... no reason. I just..." he trailed off, distracted by a weird twisted statue that appeared to be moving on occasion sitting on a shelf just behind Lucius.

"Yes? Just spit it out."

Draco made sure to meet his father's eyes so he didn't notice his wandering gaze. He took a quick swallow for good measure, noticing the smell of hard liquor once more and knew his father's patience was wearing thin. "Nothing. I was just wanting to say I was going to go out for a while around the property. I don't know how long or where exactly I'll be; just wanted to let someone know in case either of you started to wonder where I was."

Lucius gave a slow nod before he grabbed the _Daily_ _Prophet_ he had just finished folding, flipping it back to the page he was previously reading. "Alright. Be back by dinner," he said with a wave of his hand, not fully paying attention to what was said.

Draco nodded in response, knowing it went unseen. He turned to his right so he could take in more of the study he would eventually inherent before he left the room. He suddenly felt really silly for even bothering to inform someone where he was going in the first place, it was like a silent way of asking for permission or gaining a form of security knowing they knew where he was going to be at. _'Weak little pansy.' _his conscience scoffed, mentally rolling his eyes as he looked about the room.

His eyes landed on a large painting that didn't look like it was moving at all like he was used to seeing, making him curious about it. He took a long stride closer to get a better look and saw it was indeed moving, but just barely. It was a woman by a window with her side facing him, her blonde hair in a loose up-do with stray tendrils falling from it. Her head was bent downward and faced away from him, hiding her face. She held a crisp white sheet against her front that snaked down her side, where it splayed itself over the seat beneath her. Her back was left exposed and bare from her neck to her hip, her left leg from the knee down poked out from under the sheet. Her left forearm and hand were hidden, holding the material against her, only exposing her shoulder and upper arm. The background was a red framed window with an evening sky doused in shades of orange and yellow, making a sharp contrast with the woman's pale skin and sheet. The woman didn't look much older than he was; twenty maybe at most.

It was a pretty impressive painting if he had to judge the art professionally. Personally he couldn't look away, captivated by the woman's subtle movement when she looked to the window. Her shoulder, arm, and the sheet moved just enough to hint an exhale of breath. His lips parted, pupils slightly dilated, and the fingers on his right hand twitched involuntary as the beginnings of arousal started to slowly overrun his mind.

'_Who is she?' _He didn't have long to wonder why his father even had it until he saw the color of the woman's eyes as she turned her head to him and flicked her eyes up to seemingly meet his, the gentle smile on her face touched her eyes.

He felt very sick at that moment, and if he could see his own face it probably would be several shades whiter. He jerked his head away so fast he staggered backward and caught himself on a nearby wing-backed chair that was positioned in front of his father's desk. The sudden disruption had Lucius drop the paper once more, looking right at the increasing paleness of his son's face. He raised a confused brow at the scene in front of him.

"You're still here? What's the matter with you?" Lucius asked with a mixture of confused concern and annoyance. Entwining his fingers together, he rested his elbows on the edge of the desk and placed his fingers to rest over his upper lip as he watched Draco carefully. Draco's color started returning slowly to his features as he pulled himself off the back of the chair he practically toppled over. Straightening his posture, he looked back at his father with an appalled expression. Jabbing a finger in the direction of the painting, he kept his eyes trained on the other pair of grey eyes as best as he could in the process.

"Tha-That's Mother!"

Lucius' eyes followed his son's accusing finger, and Draco had to really focus to not turn his head along with him. He was not going to embarrass himself again. Lucius looked back at him and smirked, his hands conveniently hiding it from Draco.

"Yes, it is."

"Why on earth do you have that painting? That... That..." He dared not to divulge further, feeling disturbed enough knowing he saw his mother only covered with a sheet without verbalizing it. Dropping his hands to once more mess with the _Daily_ _Prophet_, Lucius tore his eyes away from the amusing scene in front of him for a moment.

"This is my _private_ study, Draco. I can have whatever I want in here just like you will be able to do when you inherit the space."

Draco knew at this point his father was looking for a laugh. He really hoped the burning feeling that prickled his face was not visible, that would only bait him to go further.

"What about..."

"These two?" Lucius gestured to the empty portraits as he finished his son's question. Draco gave a quick nod. "I charmed the painting years ago. They don't even see it, just the wall."

"Does... Does mother know about it?"

"Clearly she does. She did pose for it, after all."

That ended it. He was not going to continue to entertain his father's currently twisted, drunken mind. Draco turned on his heel without another word and made sure he kept his eyes on the floor so he didn't see anything else he didn't want to. He heard a light flick of the paper followed by the unhidden amused tone that laced his father's words as he left.

"If we need you, I'm sure we'll find you. Have a good afternoon."

Draco paced his way toward the front door, trying to decide if he needed to find a toilet to lose his pitiful lunch in or not. He had every reason to, in his opinion. His trial had been a nightmare, the verdicts announced that morning had chewed his nerves into exhaustion, and now he practically ogled a young painting of his mother! And to take the cake, she was barely concealed, how was he supposed to ignore that?

He took a calming breath and blinked just a tad too long and the painting of his mother appeared on the back of his lids. It really was an impressive image, and she was very beautiful. Perhaps if he just didn't look at her face...

He quickly sought out a bathroom to be sick in, the last few weeks of built up stress crumbled at that moment all because of a painting.


End file.
